


Present Laughter

by diana_hawthorne (dhawthorne)



Series: Private Lives [2]
Category: Law & Order, Metropolitan (1990)
Genre: Because apparently I can't write a fic without angst, But it's minor angst, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Some angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2019-10-09 11:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17406158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhawthorne/pseuds/diana_hawthorne
Summary: Ups and downs characterized the first year of their relationship for Liz and Mike. Will 1992 bring smoother sailing?Set January-July 1992.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes its title from the Noel Coward play of the same name. This fic is definitely going to be on the fluffier side, because according to actual canon and my head canon the latter half of 1992 gets _dark_. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to mccoylover, vandevere, and Isabella2004 for their continued reviews and support!!! :) I hope you enjoy!

Somehow their plans for a private New Year’s celebration end up morphing into a quick dinner alone before heading to her cousin’s party. She loves Charlie’s party, she does, but… selfishly, she just wanted the evening alone with her boyfriend. Mike had been the one to suggest dinner, just the two of them, but the next day at the precinct, after he’d spent the evening before at a Knicks game with Charlie and Bill, he pulled her aside, persuaded her to change their plans.

She’s glad he’s getting along with her family, of course she is, but selfishly--she selfishly wants to be with him, alone on New Year’s.

But here she is, at home on New Year’s Eve, trying to figure out what to wear. Mike is on his way from the precinct, finally, having been stuck retyping witness statements for the DA’s office. Their dinner reservation is in an hour and a half; by the time he fights his way through traffic and gets home, they’ll be cutting it fine. Thank God the restaurant is only ten blocks away. They can walk.

With that in mind she knows she should wear shoes that are more comfortable than not, which at least narrows her choices a bit. She finally pulls a knee-length sleeveless black silk dress out of her closet, a tight knee-length one that he’s never seen her in. She sets it on her bed just as she hears his keys in the lock.

_Finally._

She pulls her robe more tightly around her and goes to meet him. He’s in the hallway, hanging up his coat in the closet. He hears her and looks up.

‘Finally home,’ he says, grinning. ‘Do I have time for a shower?’

‘All yours,’ she replies, returning his smile. ‘I’m glad you’re back.’

‘Me too, honey,’ he says, walking over to her. He wraps his arms around her waist and bends to give her a kiss. When they break apart, he grins again. ‘I’ll be out in a minute.’

She turns to watch as he enters the bedroom, smiling after him.

 

He doesn’t take long in the shower, as promised, and emerges with his hair slicked back, a towel tied carelessly around his waist. She’s sitting at her vanity, putting on makeup. She watches him in the mirror as he moves around the bedroom, rummaging through his drawers for a dress shirt, cufflinks, and a fresh pair of boxers. His suit is in the closet; she picked it up from the dry cleaner’s this morning. He opens the closet and peers at the tie rack in the closet. She’d put that in after he started leaving some clothes at her apartment. He’d noticed and thanked her in a very satisfying way… 

‘What’s got you smilin’ like that?’ Mike asks. He’s come up behind her when she was daydreaming and he bends down now and kisses her shoulder, his arms sliding around her waist.

‘Mm, just thinking about later,’ she tells him, smile widening as he drops his head to nuzzle her neck.

‘Why just later? Why not now?’ he asks, kissing her just beneath her jaw. She knows he must feel her pulse racing the Kentucky Derby, because his embrace tightens.

‘Dinner,’ she manages to respond, and he drops his arms and sighs. She feels the same. ‘Remind me again why we’re going to this party?’

‘Hey, they’re your relatives,’ he says with a shrug, but tempers his words with another brief kiss.

‘We should get ready,’ she reminds him, and leans forward to apply her lipstick. She can hear the rustle of cloth as he gets dressed. She sets down her lipstick and picks up her brush, running it through her hair.

‘Help me with my cufflinks?’ he asks after a few minutes.

She sets down her brush and turns to him. He hands her the cufflinks--a beat-up gold pair--and she sets them down for a moment as she lines up the cuffs. Standing like this, with him so close to her, she feels a wave of desire wash over her. She hasn’t seen him outside of work since they came back from her parents’ and even though it’s only been a few days--

He bends and kisses her forehead, then her cheek, then her lips, and it takes every single ounce of willpower she has to not throw him back on the bed right now.

‘Mike, we have to go,’ she reminds him, and he sighs.

‘Now I wish I’d just suggested we stay in,’ he grumbles with a laugh.

‘Me too.’

 

They finally, finally get dressed and she digs out her mink coat from the cedar closet in her office. It was once the maid’s quarters and she’s turned it into an efficient little office, though it could easily become a fourth bedroom if they need it at some point. The cedar closet is handy, however, and she keeps her sweaters and her mink here. It was a gift from Peter and Miranda when she turned twenty-one; she really only wears it a handful of times a year, although every time she does it feels like the height of luxury. She strokes the soft fur as she rejoins Mike in the hall.

‘Very nice,’ he tells her, taking the mink out of her hands to help her into it. ‘Guess I always knew you were the mink type.’

‘It’s from Peter and Miranda,’ she tells him, shrugging into the heavy coat. ‘I wear it maybe twice a year.’

He’s grinnin when he turns her around to face him. ‘Hey, I’m not complainin’. You look beautiful, Lizzie.’

‘And you look extremely handsome,’ she says. He does. The suit she bought him--the one she insisted he get tailored--fits him perfectly. He’s a handsome man no matter what he’s wearing, but when he wears nice clothes… she grins in return.

‘Do you want to walk or take a cab?’ he asks. She takes his hand in hers and looks at his watch--an unconscious gesture that recalls his birthday, their first night together--and sees that they have half an hour.

‘Let’s walk,’ she tells him, and he sketches a bow, offering her his arm.

 

Dinner passes too quickly for her liking in a blur of a packed dining room, slow service, but ice cold champagne and the man she loves. No one notices when he drags his chair over so that they can sit next to each other, knees pressed together. It’s lovely, being here with him, being able to relax and enjoy what’s to come. Sometimes the anticipation is just as good, she thinks, but quickly corrects, _almost_ as good when Mike slides his hand up her skirt.

‘Ready to go?’ he asks, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. She agrees with alacrity, eager to get to the party and then get home, to be with him--

As they collect their coats from the coat check, he slips his hand around her waist, pulling her close to him. She turns to him once they get outside, leaning forward to kiss him. He responds immediately and their kiss goes on until she forces herself to pull back from him.

‘Why’d you stop?’ he asks, and she laughs.

‘We’re going to get arrested for public indecency--’ she’s cut off when he kisses her again and she throws caution to the wind, wrapping her arms around him.

‘Oh, God, can we please just go home,’ she begs him when they break apart. ‘Please, Mike. They’ll never know we weren’t there--’

He’s about to reply when his beeper goes off.

‘Goddamnit,’ he says, letting her go and digging through his coat pocket for the beeper. When he extracts it, frowning at the screen. ‘It’s the precinct, gotta call in.’

She nods and he takes her hand, leading her to the payphone on the corner. As he dials in, she stands close to him, grateful for the warmth of her mink. There’s a brisk wind whipping down the street; in conjunction with the crowd from the pub behind them, she can barely hear his words. Finally he hangs up the phone with a bang, scowling.

‘I’m gonna have to go in, Lizzie,’ he says. ‘They think they’ve got that guy, the one who’s been setting fires in nightclubs. Damn it,’ he adds, slamming the side of the phone box.

She groans in frustration. ‘Do you have to go now?’

‘Yeah, they need me in right away. What d’you want to do? D’you want me to bring you down to Charlie’s, or home, or what?’

‘I guess I’ll head to Charlie’s,’ she says reluctantly. ‘I don’t want to be home alone without you.’

‘I know, honey,’ he says. ‘I’ll get us a cab.’

‘I can head down by myself. The faster you get to the precinct the faster you’ll be done.’

‘Are you sure?’ When she nods, he says, ‘Okay, I’ll get you a cab, then.’

He finds one after about five minutes and bundles her into it. ‘Have fun, honey. I’ll try to make it down there. Why don’t you page me when you’re heading out if I don’t get there first.’

She nods and grabs his tie, pulling him down for a kiss. ‘I’ll miss you. Hurry up!’

‘I will,’ he promises, and closes the door. He hits the cab on the roof to send it on its way and she leans back against the pleather seats, giving the cabbie her cousin’s address.

By the time she walks up the stairs of his Gramercy brownstone, she can hear the music from inside. The house is awash with people and she slides her way through the crowd in the hallway, making for the coat check Charlie has set up in the back hallway. She hands over the heavy fur with relief and accepts the ticket before heading back into the fray.

Despite the disappointment of Mike’s last-minute work call, she’s enjoying herself. She finds a group of her friends and is absorbed into their chattering circle quickly. She enjoys a few glasses of champagne but it feels so odd being here without him. Over the past few months she’s grown so used to his presence, so being without him feels like she’s missing a limb.

When midnight strikes she hugs her friends, wishing them a happy New Year. It’s the first time in so long she has someone to kiss, but he’s not there. After saying goodbye to her friends, she slips out of her cousin’s house in the midst of drunken rendition of Auld Lang Syne. She manages, to her astonishment, to hail a cab in a few minutes and heads back uptown from her cousin’s house.

She’s pleasantly tipsy, just on the right side of drunk, and she snuggles back into her fur. She paged Mike as she was leaving but didn’t expect to hear back from him; the noise precluded it. She’s tempted to tell the cabbie to take her to the precinct… it would be empty, she’s sure, and perhaps they could…

But no. She’ll wait for him to come back. He’ll be busy, anyway, and why is she so sure it will be empty? Surely they’ll have a lot of extra beat cops on duty to break up any parties gone bad.

She sighs and settles back into her fur. When they finally reach her apartment, she pays and tips the cabbie a bit more than she usually would, then makes her way inside.

She heads straight to her phone to call the precinct. His phone rings out and she’s not going to call anyone else to try to get in touch with him--they are still keeping their relationship a secret for now. After waiting for another twenty minutes, she gets undressed, takes a shower, and goes to bed, leaving the lights on for him.


	2. Chapter 2

The door to her bedroom eases open, light spilling in from the hallway, and it closes again before she can really wake up. He’s quiet, trying not to disturb her, but the knowledge that he’s finally home prompts her to open her eyes. Her alarm clock reads 9:15 and she sits up, startled that it’s so late.

‘I was trying to not wake you up,’ Mike says, his voice hoarse. He’s still in his suit from last night, rumpled now; five o’clock shadow blurring his strong jaw. He looks worn out.

‘It’s okay,’ she tells him. ‘What happened?’

He runs a hand over his eyes, leaning against the dresser. ‘They got the guy. I mean, we know he did it--and we’ll get him, but Robinette’s gonna have to figure something out. The guy asked for his attorney right off the bat and then they spent the next six hours jerking us around. I guess he didn’t want to spend the night in lockup.’ He sighs, then says, ‘Took forever to get transport to the precinct this AM. He’s getting arraigned now. Christ, that was a long night.’

‘Come to bed,’ she says, flipping down the covers on his side in anticipation.

He grins at her, but it’s a tired smile. ‘Gotta shower first. Get the stench of perp out of my skin. Then I thought we could go for breakfast?’

‘That sounds good,’ she agrees, and smiles as he comes over to her.

‘I’m sorry our night was ruined.’

‘Don’t be sorry; it couldn’t be helped. Besides, we’ll have plenty of other New Years together.’

He rocks back on his heels at her words and it takes her a moment to realize what she's said to make him react like this. 

‘You really think so?’ he asks, his voice tentative, expression giving nothing away. 

‘I’m not planning on going anywhere, Logan,’ she says, her deliberately light tone belying the importance of her words. ‘Are you?’

He grins at her, more than a hint of relief in his expression. ‘Nope. I’ve got everything I’ve ever wanted right here.’

She has to swallow around the sudden lump in her throat. ‘Well then,’ she says, fighting back tears of relief and joy and--

\--and then he’s kissing her, pushing her back on the bed as he joins her and she stops thinking for a while. 

 

Later, when they separate with regret, Mike heads into the bathroom to take a shower. She needs to wash up as well, but doesn’t want to distract him--he needs food and then sleep in that order. In the few days they've been back from Connecticut, he's worked sixteen hours almost every day. 

She heads for the guest room bathroom and showers quickly, then goes back to her bedroom to get dressed. It’s another cold day today so she bundles up into a thick Shetland wool sweater and jeans. She’s tempted to wear her mink again--it is freezing according to the news--but doesn’t want to turn into one of those Park Avenue women who will use anything to loudly trumpet their social position. Her camel hair overcoat it is, then, when they’re ready to go.

Not for the first time she’s grateful that he’s started leaving some clothes here at her apartment. Besides the convenience factor, it’s given her a sense of security about their relationship. She knows he doesn’t--can’t--express feelings of affection well. With what she knows about his early life, she’s not surprised. But today--

She smiles to herself. He loved her, cared about her… he wanted her in his life. Well, she knew that, but hearing it--hearing it is different.

The shower turns off. He’ll be ready to go soon, which is good--she’s starving and she’s sure he is too. They can go to the diner.

She feels at loose ends, waiting for him. She forces herself to sit in the chair by the window and pick up the book she’s been reading, though she can’t focus on the words on the page. It feels like an hour’s passed by the time he comes out of the bathroom, even though it’s only been three minutes according to her clock.

‘I’ll just be a minute, honey,’ he tells her absentmindedly, rubbing his hair with a towel as he heads over to the dresser. He finds clothes--a thick sweater and jeans too--and gets dressed in economical movements. When he’s done, she puts her unread book away and stands to give him a hug.

‘I’m so lucky,’ she tells him, her face buried against his chest.

He kisses her hair. ‘Me too, Lizzie.’

 

The diner is packed by the time they get there, though Mike spies a small two-person booth in the back. He guides her to it with his hand on the small of her back; she shivers at his touch as she always does. She shrugs out of the coat when they reach their table; he does too and hangs them up on the coat hook on the side of their booth.

Their waitress comes over and brings them coffee when they ask for it, then leaves a couple menus for them. She ignores hers; she’s starving and while she usually has a lighter breakfast she’ll go for the corned beef hash.

She watches him as he reads his menu. She loves to watch him--he captivates her. His brow furrows as he contemplates his decision, then eases as he makes up his mind.

‘D’you know what you’re gonna get?’ he asks her, looking up to find her watching him. ‘Do I have somethin’ on my face?’

‘No,’ she says, blushing a bit at getting caught. ‘I’m thinking corned beef hash and eggs.’

‘I’m gonna go with the French toast and an omelette,’ he says, and she takes a sip of her coffee to hide her continued blush.

The waitress returns with admirable quickness when Mike signals her; he orders for them both, adding a side of bacon and hash browns to his order. She laughs gently at him.

‘Stocking up for the winter?’ she teases.

‘Gotta fuel up for later,’ he replies, waggling his eyebrows at her until she bursts out laughing.

Their food arrives and they tuck in. He’s ravenous, finishing his omelette and French toast before she finishes her meal. She steals a piece of bacon when he’s not looking and munches it, looking at him.

He’s looking tired again even as he absentmindedly scans the diner. He always does this--she doesn’t think he realizes he’s taking note of everything and everyone. It’s a survival mechanism, she knows, but whether it developed because of work or his childhood she’s in the dark.  
She bumps her knee against his under the table, distracting him from his unconscious surveillance.  
'What's your schedule for the week?' She asks. 'Do you have to go in tomorrow?'  
He casts his eyes up to the ceiling as he thinks. ‘Not the precinct, but I’m testifying in the Fermi case tomorrow.’  
‘I’m testifying on Friday,’ she tells him. ‘Stone said Friday morning, but who knows. I’ve cleared my schedule for the day.’  
‘Yeah. I’m testifying in the afternoon but Stone told me to be ready to be called at any point during the day. Donny’s going mental. This case has been rough from the start.’

‘That’s an understatement,’ she comments. Even the thought of that case--that poor girl, getting gang raped by her classmates--breaks her heart. She doesn’t have any great faith in the system to convict her rapists, unfortunately. It’s still too much an old boys’ club to treat women as equal in the system. He’s speaking again and she drags her attention away from systemic injustice to listen to him.

‘...have a pick-up game in the afternoon tomorrow, too--there’s a police/ADA league I play in when I have the chance. Work on Friday and Saturday morning. And then--well, my sister wants me to come over for Sunday brunch.’ She can feel his leg jiggling, a sure sign he’s nervous about something. ‘Um, she asked if you’d want to come.’

That’s not what she expected to say. She knew that his sister was the only person in his family he was really close to. The fact that he’s told his sister about them… that she wants to meet her… 

‘Yes, I would love that,’ she says, touched. ‘What time?’

He grins. ‘Eleven. That okay? We can head down around 10.’

‘Wonderful,’ she agrees, and he reaches beneath the table to squeeze her knee. ‘You done?’

He looks down at his plate. ‘Yeah. I’ll get it.’

‘No, my treat,’ she says, and grabs the check before he can argue. ‘I’ll be right back.’

As she waits in line at the cashier, she steals a glance back at him. He looks exhausted again as he rubs his eyes. Well, they’ll be home soon and they can take a nap… 

She reaches the front of the line and hands her card over to the cashier, signs the receipt, and rejoins Mike.

‘All set?’ he asks, and she nods.

‘Let’s go home.’


	3. Chapter 3

She’s running late. She was meant to meet Mike at Melon’s at 7, it’s 6:55 right now, and she’s still two stops away on the 6. She had to visit a suspect at Bellevue… she shudders. God. Parts of Bellevue--especially the locked wards--bother her more than Rikers. People shouldn’t be treated this way. And she hates taking the subway on the weekends, but it’s marginally better than battling traffic on the FDR. Except when there are delays, which there are now.

He’ll wait for her, she knows--she paged him saying that she was running late. But she wants to be there with him, wants to see him--

After spending the day together on Wednesday, he’d had to head back to his apartment to prepare for court the next day. They hadn’t seen each other since then. They’d spoken briefly on Thursday after his court appearance, in between her appointments. On Friday she’d been at Hogan Place all day, first waiting for her testimony, going through patient files in Ben’s office, then testifying, then taking advantage of already being downtown to get prepped by Diana Hawthorne, McCoy’s assistant, for her testimony in the Dillard case. And Friday he’d been working late, again, so they’d played phone tag.

This morning she’d anticipated seeing him, but a phone call from Ben put their plans on hold while she had to go down to Bellevue. And now, finally, she’s on her way uptown.

She gets off at 72nd Street and heads over to Melon’s, shivering in the brisk wind. She reaches the bar, the red neon sign glowing brightly in the evening gloom. She pushes the door open and spies him immediately, sitting in the corner of the bar with a beer in front of him. He sees her after a few moments and waves her over. She makes her way through the crowd of people waiting for tables to stand next to him. The chairs on either side of him are full, but the neighbor on his left grins at them, leaves a tip on the bar and offers her the seat. She accepts it with gratitude and slides into it. He orders her a G&T, which is placed in front of her after a few moments.

‘Hi, babe,’ he says, leaning forward to give her a kiss. She returns it, enjoying his touch for a few moments before pulling back.

‘What was Stone thinking, sending you down to Bellevue on a Saturday?’ he complains. ‘You should’ve said no, Lizzie.’

She shrugs, taking off her coat and taking a sip of her cocktail. ‘It’s my job.’

‘Yeah, I guess. But Bellevue…’ He deliberately curtails his sentence and says, ‘Well, I’m glad you’re here now.’

‘Me too,’ she says, taking his hand and squeezing it. ‘Can we talk about tomorrow?’

‘Sure,’ he says, picking up his beer with his free hand. ‘What about it?’

‘Who will be there? Can I bring anything? What should I wear?’ These questions have been in her head for days, ever since he invited her, and, quite frankly, she has no idea what to expect. He’s been reticent in sharing any information about his family, both when he was her patient and now.

He laughs. ‘Lots of questions, honey. Well, it’ll probably just be Katy and her husband Patrick, and they’ve got a son, Tommy. He’s three. My brother Pete lives out in Levittown with his wife and their daughter, so they won’t be there. I dunno who else. Probably just us.’ He sips his beer. ‘We could bring flowers, maybe, somethin’ like that. Katy loves flowers but hates spendin’ the money on them. And I don’t know, they’re all gonna be comin’ from church. Somethin’ comfortable, though.’

She runs her wardrobe through her head and thinks that she will probably wear her navy wrap dress. That’s comfortable enough, not too flashy, and should be appropriate. She’ll ask his opinion when they get home. Another option would be her grey flannel slacks and a cashmere sweater. Hmm.

She realizes he’s waiting for a response. ‘That sounds good.’

He leans back in his barstool. ‘Okay, Lizzie, enough of that. What’s this week looking like for you?’

 

Later, as they walk home, she snuggles close to him. Finally together… she needs to start writing down his shifts in her day planner, figure out a way they can coordinate his shifts and her appointments so that they’ll have more time together. He has a life outside of their relationship; she does too, and she wants to maximize the time they can spend with each other.

Their jobs--both hers and his--are demanding. It’s one of the main reasons she hasn’t been involved in a successful relationship since finishing her Ph.D. And Mike… she wants to make it work with him. She’s never felt like this about anyone else before.

Based on their brief conversation about schedules it appears that after tomorrow they won’t have a chance to see each other until Friday. Well, they’ll just have to make the most of their time together, won’t they? That’s all they can do.

He’s warmly affectionate tonight, stopping on the corner to kiss her, to run his hand down her back. The walk back to their apartment is slow and easy; she looks forward to being with him, to spending the rest of the evening together in conversation and… 

They round the corner to her building, choosing to go through the side door and use the service elevator. It’s far more private… and the second the doors close behind him he’s pushed her against the wall, kissing her passionately. She responds with equal vigor, pressing herself as close as she can to him with all their cold-weather clothing in the way. He aims to divest her of some of it, at least, beginning to unbutton her long coat while she tries to unzip his.

‘Christ, Lizzie, how many clothes are you wearing?’ he complains, having unbuttoned her coat only to be faced with a blazer, a cashmere sweater, a silk blouse, and a pair of glen plaid trousers.

‘It’s cold,’ she says, shrugging, trying to suppress a laugh. The elevator door opens and she pulls him through it, leading the way to her apartment.

They don’t make it to the bedroom--not even close. They barely make it into the apartment before he starts undressing her, their coats chucked away, clothes all over the place. He’s more eager than almost ever before and she matches his passion, returning his kisses, his caresses.

After, despite the uncomfortable position and his weight resting on her, she kisses the side of his head and thinks she’s never been happier.

 

They eventually make their way to the shower, then to her bed. Being with him--being with him in any setting, but this one, this intimate one, most of all--lets her imagine what their life will become. He’s on his side of the bed, reading a book, but his arm is around her shoulder and she’s snuggled tight in the curve of his arm, ostensibly reading too but really daydreaming.

It could be like this always, she thinks. The two of them like this, together, happy… she wants more time with him. She wants to spend all of her time with him, if she’s honest with herself. She wants to come home and have him here, or drive home together, or… 

Well, all these things could happen, eventually. She wants to make sure he’s comfortable with the way their relationship is progressing and how. He’s not used to this--the companionship aspect, the shared lives aspect--and, to be fair, she isn’t either. Her past relationships were lackluster and almost impersonal compared to what they have.

She loves him. She wants to be with him. He loves her too, even if he can’t say it. It matters less than she thought it would.

She drifts off to sleep in his embrace.

 

She wakes up shortly before her alarm goes off and runs down her mental checklist of tasks to do before they go to his sister’s. She’s nervous, she has to admit--she’s surprised that he has told Katy about them, has made it clear to the only member of his family he really likes that he’s serious about her. His relationship with his family, even his sister, is nothing like hers. Her mother may encroach upon her life but she loves her and supports her; she knows that. But Mike… she doesn’t think he has that, not even from Katy.

She wants to make a good impression. She _has_ to make a good impression. She knows it’s not a test but interacting with his family… that’s going to mean something to him.

She slides out of bed and uses the bathroom, brushes her teeth, and combs her hair. After that’s done she makes her way into the kitchen to put the coffee on. While the coffee is brewing, she sits down at the table and writes a list. 

Flowers--ask Mike what Katy likes  
Choose clothes--grey flannel trousers and sweater or navy wrap dress?  
Whose car? Call garage if mine

Written out, the few things she has to finish before they leave at 10 seem much more manageable, though she is still nervous. As she gets up to pour the coffee, her alarm goes off and she hears Mike begin to stir. She pours his first, stirring in his sugars, and brings it to him. 

He's gotten out of bed and is pulling back the curtains. She stands in the doorway for a moment to admire the view; he's put on his boxers but otherwise he’s unclothed. He turns to greet her. 

‘Good morning,’ she says, walking towards him. ‘I’ve brought you coffee. I thought I’d run to the florist quickly. What flowers does Katy like?’

He takes the cup of coffee from her hand and bends to give her a kiss. ‘Good morning. Um, I dunno--maybe lilies?’

‘All right, I’ll go see what they have.’

‘Wait, now?’ he asks, setting down his coffee to wrap his arms around her waist. ‘I thought we’d have a leisurely morning.’

‘Not if we have to be downtown by 11,’ she tells him, mock sternly. ‘Later.’

‘You promise?’ he asks, half in jest.

‘Promise,’ she tells him, and seals it with a kiss. ‘I’ll be back in a little bit.’

‘I’m gonna take a shower, then,’ he says, and she nods. He heads to the bathroom while she gets dressed quickly in jeans and a sweater, her standard casual winter uniform, then heads out to the florist around the corner.

The florist is busy--lots of women buying arrangements for their own Sunday brunches--and she waits in a line for twenty minutes to buy her bouquet of lilies. They look lovely and she hopes that Katy will like them. On a whim, she goes a few blocks out of her way and stops by the bookstore, just opening for the day, to pick up something for Mike’s nephew. She finds a boxed set of Margaret Wise Brown books and buys them.

And now she needs something for Patrick. She checks her watch; it’s five past nine, she needs to get a move on. She has an unopened bottle of Bushmills at home. That should work. She doesn't know what else she could get him. She pays for the books and heads back. 

‘Where were you?’ Mike says when she reenters the apartment. He’s in the kitchen, dressed in nice slacks and a navy blazer, drinking a cup of coffee. 

‘The line at the florist was long, then I stopped at got your nephew some books. Is a bottle of Bushmills okay for Patrick?’ she asks, setting down the flowers and books. 

‘Yeah, that’s fine. Lizzie, you don’t need to do all this--’

‘I want to make a good impression,’ she tells him firmly. ‘They’re your family, Mike.’

‘I didn't think you’d go to so much trouble,’ he says, abandoning his coffee to join her at the counter. ‘Thank you.’

She kisses him. ‘I need to get dressed. And are we taking your car or mine?’

'Mine. If we took yours I wouldn't expect it to be there when we leave.'

'Okay,' she says, a bit nervous about that now in addition to meeting his family. 'I’ll get dressed.'

 

When she emerges from the bedroom, having dithered again over her outfit, she is gratified by Mike’s immediate grin. She’s ended up with the navy wrap dress, a simple one that looks polished while still being comfortable. She wears minimal jewelry and makeup--only a spritz of her perfume and a light pink lipstick with pearl studs and her Cartier tank watch with the alligator band--a gift from her parents after she graduated from Farmington. Sheer stockings and a pair of low-heeled navy pumps complete the outfit.

‘You look beautiful, Lizzie,’ he tells her, the frank admiration in his tone prompting a smile from her.

‘Do you think I’ll pass muster?’ she asks, only half joking.

He nods, stepping forward to take her into his arms. ‘Thanks for doing this, Lizzie.’

She nods against his chest. ‘I love you.’

He kisses her forehead in response. ‘Me too.’

 

The drive down to Peter Cooper Village is fairly short, even taking into account the Sunday traffic. They arrive a quarter to eleven, but it takes then ten minutes to find a parking spot. Luckily it’s only half a block from the apartment, Mike says, helping her out of the car. He takes the books and the whiskey while she carries the flowers.

He guides her to their building, his hand on her back. She’s more nervous than ever and she knows he can tell; as he presses the buzzer for his sister’s apartment he finds her hand and squeezes it.

The door buzzes and he opens it for her. She’s never been down here, to Peter Cooper Village or to Stuyvesant Town, and she’s impressed. While the buildings have some graffiti the lobby is clean and so is the elevator. That’s rare enough for Manhattan that it bears noting.

The elevator ride is silent. She doesn’t know what to say and neither does Mike, it seems. She’s not used to feeling nervous and it disconcerts her, making her even more nervous. They get out on the fourth floor and head down the hallway, stopping at a door with a bright doormat in front of it.

‘You ready?’ he asks in a low voice, but she has no time to respond before the door flings open and a dark-haired woman comes barrelling out, throwing her arms around Mike.

‘Finally!’ she exclaims, pulling back to look at him. ‘Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Mike, I was running out of ways to try to bring you down. The Lower East Side is still on the same island as Yorkville, you know, you’d think you’d come down here more.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he says dismissively, even though he’s smiling down at his sister. ‘Listen, Katy, this is my girlfriend, Liz Olivet.’

Katy turns her attention away from her brother to her. She’s a beautiful woman with dark hair and flashing blue eyes, and she has that same irrepressible energy that is Mike’s hallmark. She knows that Katy is judging her too, but she’s apparently not found wanting as Katy grins at her, extending a hand for her to shake.

‘Pleased to meet you, Liz. I’ve got to say, I’ve been curious about you since Mike mentioned you for the first time a few months ago… I’ve been eager to meet you.’

‘I’ve looked forward to meeting you too,’ she replies carefully. They exchange another glance, each appraising the other, and then Katy smiles.

‘What am I doing, keeping you two in the hall? Come in, come in!’

Mike follows Katy into the apartment while she brings up the rear. The short hallway leads to the kitchen, immediately on the right, and living room and dining room, where a man about Mike’s age is sitting on the sofa, the television on in the background.

‘Mike!’ the man says, standing. ‘I’m glad you finally made it down--I swear Katy would’ve gone up to your apartment and dragged you down by your ear if you’d made another excuse.’ He turns to her. ‘You must be Liz. It’s wonderful to meet you at last--I’m Pat.’

She shakes his hand. ‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ she tells him honestly.

‘Is this for me?’ Katy’s reappeared from the kitchen and is indicating the brown paper-wrapped bundle of flowers in her arms.

‘Oh, yes,’ she says, blushing a bit as she realizes she’s been clutching the bouquet like a lifeline. She hands Katy the bundle and she peers inside.

‘Lilies!’ she exclaims with genuine delight. ‘How beautiful. Thank you.’

She smiles, still feeling awkward and uncomfortable but grateful that so far the visit’s going well.

‘Can I take your coat, Liz?’ Pat asks, and she nods, shrugging out of it and handing him the camel hair overcoat. Mike does the same, shucking out of the black wool coat he put on this morning but leaving his blazer on. She’s grateful that Pat is also wearing a blazer, while Katy’s wearing a dark green dress--on the drive down she was afraid she’d be overdressed, but that’s not the case.

‘Tommy’s taking his nap,’ Katy calls over her shoulder as she goes to the kitchen, presumably to put the flowers in water. ‘Liz, Mike, can I get you something to drink?’

Mike extracts the bottle of Bushmills from the bag, handing it to Pat before putting the shopping bag down on the coffee table. ‘Liz brought a bottle.’

‘Bushmills?’ Katy asks, emerging from the kitchen with the vase full of lilies. She sets it on the dining room table.

‘Of course.’

‘She knows you well,’ Katy says lightly. ‘Let me get glasses.’

 

It’s easier after the first drink, the aged whiskey going down smoothly, burning a path from her mouth to her stomach. It’s a nicer bottle than the ones he buys himself, a fact that’s remarked on with approval by Katy and Pat.

Katy’s perched in an armchair, overlooking her kingdom, while Pat sprawls in the recliner and she sits close to Mike, even though they don’t touch. She sinks back into the comfortable sofa, letting their conversation wash over her, picking up on Katy’s glances towards Mike when she thinks no one is looking. She’s worried about him, she realizes with a start. But why?

Pat’s poured everyone another glass when Katy stands and asks if she could help in the kitchen. Bemused, she follows her, taking a seat at the two-person table squeezed into the kitchen, her offers of help rejected for the moment.

Katy’s silent for a few minutes, moving around the galley kitchen with a speed that has no small amount of grace. She starts the coffee brewing, gets out a cast iron pan for bacon, and cracks eggs into a bowl. When she starts to whisk she brings the bowl to the table so that they can talk.

‘So how long have you and my brother been seeing each other?’ Katy asks.

Ah. She should have suspected an interrogation.

‘A few months now,’ she replies. Well, it’s sort of true--they just had a little break in between. She watches as Katy sets the bowl aside and looks her straight in the eyes.

‘How did you two meet? I can’t imagine you two connected the same way he usually meets his dates.’

‘We work together. I’m a psychologist and I work with Mike’s precinct doing consults, counseling officers, that sort of thing.’

Katy huffs a laugh. ‘I’ve got to say, you’re not what I expected.’

‘Oh?’ she replies with studied lightness. ‘How so?’

‘Mike’s usual type usually has a little less brain and a little more…’ Katy nods at her chest and she blushes bright red. Katy laughs, not unkindly.

‘I care about him very much,’ she says stiffly. 

‘Not just slumming, then?’ she asks, then raises a hand to stem her heated denial. ‘He’s my big brother. True, we’re Irish twins, but... he's not had an easy go of it, and someone’s gotta look after him.’

‘I know,’ she replies, anger deflating slightly. ‘Some of it, at least.’

‘Because he told you or because you guessed?’

Before she can respond there's a cry from the baby monitor. 

‘Saved by the baby,’ Katy says, then calls ‘Pat!’

‘I’ve got him,’ he says, heading down the hallway. Katy deftly turns on the stove and starts dipping bread into her egg mixture for French toast.

‘I care about him very much,’ she repeats. ‘I want you to know that.’

Katy is facing the stove, her back to her, and she sees her shoulders tense. ‘Just don’t hurt him, okay? Underneath that tough exterior he’s a softie at heart.’

‘I won’t,’ she promises.

She can see the tightness ease. ‘Good. In that case, I think we’ll be friends.’

‘I look forward to it.’

‘Lizzie,’ Mike calls from the other room. ‘Come meet Tommy.’

She smiles at Katy and excuses herself, her hands shaking as though she’s just been in a fight.

 

The rest of their time at Mike’s sister’s apartment passes pleasantly enough, though she’s hyper-aware of Katy’s increased scrutiny. She forces herself to ignore it, aware that Katy is just looking out for her brother.

Katy’s son is a charmer. He looks like a Logan, with his strong proud stance, expressive face, vibrant energy, though he has Pat’s auburn hair. Looking at him--her heart flips over. She wants children, she’s always wanted children, but she’s deliberately not thought of children in the context of her relationship with Mike. But this boy… if they had children, a son, their child might look just like Tommy. And Mike…

Tommy loves his uncle, that much is clear. He has eyes only for Mike, wanting to play with him, wanting him to watch as he shows off something new he’s learned. Mike is wonderful with him, interested in everything Tommy has to share, warm, affectionate… 

He’d be a wonderful father. He has so much love to give, and… but what if he doesn’t want children? They haven’t had this conversation yet--they haven’t discussed the notion of marriage, either, even in the abstract. And she’d want to be married first before they have children.

She’s only thirty. They’ve only been together a short time. It’s not time to talk about that, to think about that, not yet… so she forces herself to set her daydreams aside as they say goodbye and thank you to Katy, Pat, and Tommy.

 

She’s quiet as they walk to the car, as she settles back into the seat. She closes her eyes, feeling suddenly worn out from the four hours they spent at the apartment. Mike slides into the driver’s seat, then reaches out and squeezes her knee. She opens her eyes slowly and looks at him.

‘Thanks for coming, Lizzie,’ he says, his words filled with such love it makes her smile. ‘They liked you a lot.’

‘I liked them,’ she replies, resting her hand on his.

He grins at her, then turns to look before pulling the car out of its parking spot. As they head up 1st Avenue, he asks, ‘What were you and Katy talkin’ about in the kitchen?’

‘Just girl talk,’ she fibs, then says, ‘Tommy is such a sweet boy.’

‘Yeah, he is,’ Mike says, smiling. He looks over at her while they’re stopped at a light. ‘You tired, Lizzie?’

‘A bit,’ she tells him. ‘It’s been a long week and since yesterday was spent at Bellevue…’

‘Yeah. Well let’s just take it easy for the rest of the day, yeah?’

She nods, leaning back against the seat again and closing her eyes. As Mike drives, his hand on her knee, she allows her thoughts to drift.


	4. Chapter 4

The drive uptown is quick, and she opens her eyes to find he’s found a spot on her side street. By some unspoken agreement they spend the majority of their time at her apartment. It’s much larger than his and more comfortable, too, but she would happily spend her time with him in a cardboard box if it meant they got to be alone together.

She never thought she’d be so head over heels about anyone, let alone Mike Logan. She always overanalyzes things, tries to find meanings behind each and every word, but being with Mike… for the first time in a long time she’s able to suspend that way of thinking and just take life as she finds it. It’s intoxicating.

He wraps his arms around her when they get out of the car and onto the sidewalk. She never gets tired of being held in his embrace; she can’t see how she could. Being with him is…

‘Thank you, Lizzie,’ he whispers in her ear.

She pulls back slightly to look up at him. ‘For what?’ she asks curiously.

‘For being you. For loving me,’ he tells her, bringing one hand up to stroke her cheek. ‘Growin’ up there… I never thought I’d make it out. Never thought there was anything but what we had. Katy and Pat… Pat’s goal in life was to get an apartment in Peter Cooper or Stuy Town. He lucked into one because he helped deliver groceries every week for some old lady who lived there. Her son works for MetLife and bumped them up the list.’ He leans back, looking up at the sky, and slides his hand down to her shoulder. ‘That’s all they wanted. An apartment there and a couple kids. And… that’s it. He’s the manager of a grocery store and Katy takes in sewin’ and stuff and that’s all they do with their life. And, I mean, it’s fine, it’s not wrong, it’s what a lot of people do, but it was never somethin’ I could stomach. I had to get out of there.

‘So I got out. I drove a cab to save tuition money and I worked my way up and... and now I have you. Thing is, where I come from, everyone knows everyone else’s dirty laundry, and the Logans... we have a lot. And I never thought I'd find someone I wanted to be with where that didn't matter. Who would still care about me and want me even after knowin’ what there was to know. And then you come along in your silk blouses and your thousand-dollar watch and you give a damn. And you want me to be part of your Park Avenue life, never mind that with my background I wouldn’t even get work in your building as a doorman. But you don’t care. And you--and you love me.’ He takes another deep breath and says, looking straight into her eyes, ‘I never thought I’d get so lucky as to be with someone even half as wonderful as you, but here you are. And I want to be where you are. I want to be with you as long as you’ll have me around.’

She is speechless. This declaration of love--because it couldn’t be anything else--she never expected this from him, never knew he could be so--

‘So, d’you have anythin’ to say?’ he asks her, a self-deprecating smile on his face but real worry in his voice. He’s not someone who wears his heart on his sleeve and that’s why this is so surprising. She throws her arms around him and buries her face in his chest.

‘God, Mike, I love you so much,’ she babbles, all her cool detachment flying out the window. ‘I love you. I want you here forever. Forever, Mike. I love you--’

His hands are in her hair, tilting her face up to his, and she leans forward to kiss him with as much love and desire she can possibly express. He returns her kiss hungrily, pulling her toward him, and she holds him as tight as she can. She can feel his heart thrum in his chest despite the layers of clothing.

They pull back from each other at last and she smiles up into his eyes. She’s never seen him so happy before, so… settled.

‘Let’s go inside,’ she says.

‘Yeah,’ he agrees, and squeezes her tight, once more, before taking her hand and heading into her building.

 

She leans back against the pillows looking down at him. He’s lying on his back, a pillow tucked carelessly behind his head, and his eyes are closed. The setting sun just touches his skin and she smiles. She feels lazy and languid and so satisfied that right now she’s unsure how she’ll ever be able to go about her daily life without grinning like an idiot. She stretches out a hand and runs her fingers through his hair. He smiles and without opening his eyes captures her hand in his and brings it to his mouth for a kiss.

‘You’re magnificent,’ he murmurs against her skin, and she can’t quite repress a giggle that bubbles up within her. She’s not a giggler, but--

‘You’re not so bad yourself, Logan,’ she tells him.

He opens his eyes and looks at her with an expression of mirth so amusing she dissolves into laughter. He joins her, turning over so that he can bury his face in her stomach, the vibrations of his laugh and then his hands tickling her further. Finally she gasps, begging for relief, and he stops, flopping down on the bed next to her.

‘Will you stay tonight? Please?’ she asks, finally recovered from her laughter.

‘Of course,’ he tells her, running his fingers through her hair. ‘Want to order in?’

‘I thought you’d never ask. I’ll get the menus,’ she says, slipping out of bed with a final kiss. She pads into the kitchen barefoot, going to the drawer with her takeout menus are kept. Pulling out the stack, she heads back to the bedroom. 

He’s in the bathroom when she returns, so she slips into her robe and fresh underwear, then gets back into bed. She spreads out the menus in front of her. She’s starving, and while they just had burgers last night she's craving them again, or pizza, or sushi, she thinks, laughing to herself. She’s always been careful with her diet but put her together with Mike and she eats like a teenaged boy. But they've been so... active... that she thankfully hadn't put on any weight. But still. She should call Audrey and Charlie and Nick, organize their yearly squash round robin. The cardio she’s been indulging in should help her keep up. 

Mike emerges from the bathroom, still unclothed, and despite their earlier activities she feels her heart begin to beat faster, her mouth going dry...

‘Those the menus?’ he asks, though his grin indicates he knows exactly how he’s affecting her. He goes to the dresser and pulls out a pair of boxers and a tshirt, dressing before he rejoins her. 

‘What are you in the mood for?’ she asks, leaning into him as he settles next to her.

He nuzzles her hair and she laughs, pushing him away though she moves back against him after a moment.

‘Not that,’ she tells him, attempting to sound stern though she fails miserably.

‘Why not?’ he asks, kissing her neck.

‘After dinner.’

He sighs and flips through the menus. ‘How about pizza? Pepperoni?’

‘Sure,’ she agrees, and leans over to get the phone. As she dials the pizza place, he gets out of bed and starts to throw their dirty clothes in the hamper. While she usually sends her laundry out to be washed and dried, she does have a washer and dryer in her apartment near her home office. He asks her to get out of bed silently as she orders and she does so and he sets to work, stripping the bed. His arms full of laundry, he heads to the washing machine.

She hangs up the phone after her order is placed and smiles. She never would have suspected he had such a sweet side to him. But he is thoughtful. Going into the hallway, she pulls down a fresh set of sheets and starts making the bed.

The doorbell rings a few minutes later; this pizza place is always quick. She heads to the front door to collect it, but Mike’s already there, having shrugged into a pair of jeans. He turns after closing the door, grinning at her.

‘You hungry?’

She nods and follows him into the kitchen.

 

They have an early night. After pizza they watch a movie in the living room, a James Bond that was on HBO, and then go to bed. She falls asleep quickly, held tight in his arms. 

He has to leave early the next morning; his shift starts at 7 so he gets up at 5:30. She wakes up a bit too, though he is quiet, and before he goes he kisses her tenderly. 

‘I’ll call you later, okay?’ he says. ‘Maybe we can figure something out before Friday. I’ll let you know.’

Still more than half asleep, she yawns and agrees, returning his embrace sleepily before he goes. Suddenly cold, she moves over to the warm hollow left in the bed by his departure and drifts back to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

She does indeed talk to him later in the day, another quick call between appointments. She can hear Phil in the background, can hear the bustle of the bullpen, so it’s only a quick call but even so--that he called during the work day--touches her deeply. She tries to call him at home later but the answering machine picks up; she leaves him a message instead. 

She does call Audrey in the evening about the squash round robin, and she promises to ask Charlie and call Nick and Sally. They make plans for dinner tomorrow night at Le Charlot. They’re both in a French mood, it seems, and the restaurant is fairly close to their apartments. Even though she's gone all weak-kneed over Mike she doesn’t want the other parts of her life to be held in abeyance.

After her last appointment, she decides to bring her paperwork home. She’s been falling behind, a bit--nothing major but as she has the evening to herself she may as well catch up and work ahead if she can.

It’s raining when she leaves the office, and, arms full of files, she hails a cab. On her way uptown, she leans back against the seat of the cab. While she’d rather be spending the evening with Mike she does value her time alone, and when she gets home she’ll work on some paperwork with a glass of wine, then relax, take a bath, and have something light for dinner.

She sheds her wet trenchcoat when she gets home, hanging it up in the laundry room so that it doesn’t ruin her floors. After that, she decides to take a bath first. It’s another bitingly cold day and she needs to warm up.

Lying back in the bath, she lets her mind wander. Mike, Charlie’s party, her friends, dinner tomorrow with Audrey. Her cousins, Teddy and Chrissy, Chrissy’s confession that they were trying to start a family. They’d just bought an apartment for them a few blocks away; when they have their baby they’ll be so close.

She ruthlessly suppresses any more personal thoughts on that subject and gets out of the bath.

 

It’s hard to focus on her paperwork, but she makes an effort to do so, and by the time she’s too tired to go on she’s not only caught up but did more than she needed to. Good. She can work on even more on Wednesday and really be ahead for the first time in a long time. It will be nice to be able to relax with Mike at the weekend.

She gets into bed, wearing one of the tshirts he left-- _and my God, Elizabeth, you are infatuated_ , she thinks--and turns off the light. Just as she’s slipping into sleep, her phone rings.

It’s probably a patient, she thinks, and that’s the only reason she picks up the phone.

‘Hello?’ she says, voice groggy with sleep.

‘Did I wake you, Lizzie?’

She smiles into the receiver. ‘I was just going to sleep. But I’d like to talk, if you want to.’

‘I was just callin’ to tell you good night. Did you have a good rest of your day?’

She rolls over in bed, bringing the phone with her. ‘It was all right. Patients, caught up on paperwork, that sort of thing. I’m meeting Audrey for dinner tomorrow.’

‘That sounds good.’ Talking with him over the phone like this feels oddly intimate; she feels a wave of warmth wash over her.

‘How was your day?’

He sighs gustily. ‘The usual. Just finished up my own paperwork and got home.’

‘I wish you were here,’ she admits. ‘I’m wearing one of your tshirts to bed.’

She can here the smile in his voice. ‘I wish I was there too, honey. If I finish up early tomorrow maybe I can come over?’

She smiles, then yawns. ‘I’d love that.’

‘Me too. I’ll let you go, honey, you sound tired.’

She yawns again. ‘All right. I love you, Mike.’

‘Me too, honey. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Good night.’

‘Good night,’ she murmurs, then hangs up the phone and burrows back under the blankets.

 

Another day. She loves her work, she does--she loves figuring out what makes people tick, how she can help them, what has happened to them--but she’s eager for the week to pass so that she can be with Mike. If she was her own patient, she’d encourage her to not get so caught up in a new relationship, especially with someone who has a history of non-commitment, but in reality… well, it’s different.

It’s not as though being with him has become her entire identity. Of course it hasn’t. For one thing, they haven’t share the fact of their relationship with anyone at work, work which takes up most of their lives. For another, they still have separate lives, separate friends, separate plans. But being with him… she wants to be with him all the time because she loves him, and he loves her, and that’s healthy, especially for him. All she wants to do is show him just how much she loves him.

And besides, the sex is… the sex is astronomical. She feels herself blushing as she thinks about him… she never thought it could be this good, the connection that they had… she didn’t think people had that for real. She thought that was just fiction.

 

When her appointments end for the day at 5, she heads back to her apartment to change quickly before dinner. It’s a relief to get out of her suit, crumpled from the commute on the subway, and into flannel trousers and a comfortable cashmere sweater. The restaurant is only a few blocks away but it’s bitterly cold again. She says to herself, to hell with it, anyway, and pulls out her mink to wear.

She’s glad of its warmth as she walks down to 69th and Madison. The restaurant is busy by the time she arrives, a few minutes before their reservation. She’s is promptly shown to her usual banquette. The maitre d’ takes her mink and she orders a martini while she waits for Audrey.

Audrey comes in a few minutes later, bundled up as well, cheeks flushed from the cold. They exchange kisses and Audrey sheds her coat, orders a martini too, and then finally collapses in her chair, smiling.

‘I’m so sorry I’m late, Liz, an author meeting ran long. You look wonderful. I’m so glad we’re finally catching up.’

She returns Audrey’s smile. ‘It’s so good to see you. You look wonderful too. How’s Charlie?’

Audrey’s expression turns dreamy. Their group of friends had been rooting for the two of them for years, ever since their first year in college, and they finally started dating three years ago. They’ve been engaged for the past year and they’re planning their wedding for the summer.

‘He’s wonderful. He’s just sent his collection of short stories to the printer and it’ll be released in a month or so. We’re planning a party and we’ll let you know when it is.’ Audrey studies her over the rim of her martini glass. ‘And can we extend an invitation to Mike, too?’

She feels a silly grin stretch across her face and Audrey laughs.

‘So things are going well, then? We liked him a lot, Liz.’

‘Yes, things are going well,’ she replies. ‘You know he came to spend a couple days on Contentment Island after Christmas. And I even think my mother came to like him.’

Audrey laughs again. ‘Well, good for Mike! I’m impressed, but then he did strike me as a charmer.’

‘He is,’ she agrees. ‘He’s wonderful, Audrey.’

‘Tell me all about him,’ she says, and she leans forward to tell her everything. 

 

Over dessert and brandy Audrey says, ‘I had an ulterior motive for dinner tonight, Liz. I was wondering--I’d be honored--if you’d be my maid of honor.’

‘Oh, Audrey, of course,’ she says, touched that she’s been asked. ‘I’m honored. Thank you.’

Audrey squeezes her hand. ‘Who could I ask but my best friend? Thank you for agreeing, Liz.’ She grins. ‘I hope I’ll have the chance to return the favor sometime soon.’

She blushes and says, ‘I hope so, too.’

‘I’m going to wear my deb dress, so I just need to get that tailored, but I thought we could go shopping, pick out dresses. I’ve asked Sally and Jane to be my other bridesmaids. Nick, Fred, and my brother are Charlie’s groomsmen.’

‘That sounds perfect,’ she says. ‘Let me know where you’d like to go to look at dresses.’

‘Perfect.’

They get the check, each putting down a card to split the bill. When they’ve paid and collected their coats they say goodbye on the sidewalk.

‘Let’s have dinner again soon, you and Mike and me and Charlie,’ Audrey suggests. ‘Maybe this weekend.’

‘I’m not sure of Mike’s schedule but I’ll check and give you a call,’ she replies, exchanging kisses again. ‘Talk to you soon.’

‘Good night!’

‘Good night.’

 

On her walk home she’s filled with excitement about Audrey and Charlie’s upcoming nuptials, and excited to be her maid of honor. The wedding will be in Southampton and she’s so excited for the wedding and being the maid of honor… and Mike will be there too, and it will be wonderful… 

It’s late as she heads home, their dinner having lasted four hours. She doesn’t usually like walking home at night, especially not this late, but it feels ridiculous to take a cab seven blocks. Nevertheless, she walks up well-lit Madison and cuts over to Park when she reaches her cross street.

She goes through the lobby, collecting her mail from the doorman before taking the elevator up to her apartment. As she starts to divest herself of her fur, she notices that his coat is in the closet and her heart leaps.

She hurriedly sheds her fur, leaving it draped on the bench by the hall closet, and almost runs down the hallway to her bedroom. She stops in the doorway to look at him. He's obviously fallen asleep waiting for her; he's clad in boxers and a tshirt and has been reading a book, which lays sprawled open next to him. The lights are on and he’s laid out a nightgown for her on the bench at the foot of the bed and flipped down the covers on her side.

She feels her heart flip over. How could this man turn her into mush? Looking closer, she sees the dark circles beneath his eyes, the dark comma of hair flopping onto his forehead. He's exhausted but he still came to see her...

She quietly collects her nightgown then heads to the bathroom to get ready for bed. By the time she emerges he's woken up and is waiting for her. 

‘I hope you don’t mind I let myself in,’ he says, voice husky from sleep. She feels heat well low in her belly at the sound of his voice.

‘Of course not,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry I’m so late, I would have rushed home if I knew you’d be here.’

‘Well, you’re here now,’ he says, grinning at her. ‘Why don’t you come to bed?’

She returns his smile and joins him in bed, slipping between the covers and moving as close to him as she can. He nuzzles her hair.

‘How was your day?’ she asks.

‘Same old, same old. At least I finished up the paperwork early. We arrested that creep who tried to kill Lucy Neven. Can you come in tomorrow afternoon for a psych eval?’

‘Of course,’ she says, then lifts her face for a kiss. ‘I’ve missed you.’

‘Me too, honey,’ he replies, kissing her. ‘I missed you so much.’

As their kisses grow more heated, he rolls her onto her back, running his hand down her side.

‘I don’t know why you bothered to get dressed,’ he murmurs against her neck.

‘You’re the one who set it out for me,’ she says, gasping as he pushes up her nightgown.

‘Well, I didn’t expect you to wear it.’

‘You’re one to talk, you’re overdressed--’ she’s cut off when he bends to kiss her and she runs her hands beneath his shirt. ‘Oh, Mike, please.’

‘Your wish is my command,’ he laughs, and she grins.


	6. Chapter 6

He has another early start, another 5:30 wakeup call. She gets up with him this time and makes coffee and eggs and bacon for breakfast. His face lights up when he enters the kitchen, struggling with his tie.

‘Thanks, Lizzie,’ he tells her, giving her a quick kiss that turns into something more passionate when he presses her back against the counter.

‘Mm, Mike, breakfast will be cold,’ she says, wanting him badly but not wanting to make him late.

He rests his forehead against hers and smiles down at her. ‘Always the responsible one. Can I see you tonight, after work?’

‘Please.’

‘Good,’ he replies, kissing her lightly. ‘Breakfast smells amazing, thank you.’

He eats quickly, realizing that he’s almost running late. She walks him to the door when he finishes, looking at him as he gets his coat.

‘Why don’t you come in for lunch, Lizzie, then we can do the interview? Around 1?’

‘I’ll see you then,’ she says, and with one final kiss he heads out the door.

 

She finishes up her reports for the precinct and DAs office in the morning before dressing carefully for the precinct. After that one homeless man tried to look up her skirt she’s been more careful to wear neutral, conservative clothing. It’s easier in the winter because when the summer heat hits the precinct’s air conditioning breaks down more often than not.

She decides to drive, not wanting to deal with the long walk from the subway to the precinct in the cold weather. While the streets are plowed the sidewalks in that part of town aren’t as maintained as the ones in her neighborhood, and the last thing she wants to do is slip and fall.

She finds a parking spot outside the precinct and locks her car, making sure all the doors are locked before she heads into the precinct.

It’s a busy day in the 2-7. She can hear the buzz of the squad room even before she rounds the corner. She sees Mike and Phil immediately, Phil making phone calls, Mike tapping his pen impatiently against the desk, filling out paperwork. He’s scowling down at the form, a lock of hair flopping into his eyes. She feels her heart thump with desire-- _get a hold of yourself, Elizabeth! This is neither the time nor the place_ \--and steps forward.

Mike spots her first and leans back, tipping his chair onto its back legs, grinning at her. She forces herself to stop an answering grin spread across her face and settles for a brief nod. He returns it, suppressing the grin though he still has a small smile playing along his lips.

‘Hi, Liz. Can we go grab some lunch while we brief you on the case?’ Phil says, hanging up the phone. ‘You haven’t gone to the Italian place around the corner, have you? Perfect manicotti.’

She allows herself to smile at Phil. ‘No, I haven’t. Are you ready to go or am I interrupting?’

‘I’m ready. Mikey?’

Mike drops his chair back to the ground. ‘Yep, I’m ready.’

‘I’ll let the captain know we’re heading out. Meet you outside,’ Phil tells them, and she exchanges a glance with Mike.

‘Ready to go?’ he asks, his voice low.

‘Yes,’ she says, and walks out of the squad room a bit more quickly than she usually would, with Mike on her heels. The second they get outside he looks around quickly and puts his arms around her, holding her tight, releasing her before she can return his embrace.

‘I missed you,’ he says, looking down at her.

She laughs--not at him, never at him. The feeling that she gets when she’s near him--it’s like drinking champagne. ‘We just saw each other this morning.’

‘It’s been like six hours, Lizzie--a long time,’ he jokes, but there’s more than a hint of truth in his words. This time she can’t suppress a grin, and heedless of their potential audience, she leans forward and gives him a quick kiss.

‘I’m glad I’m here, even if it’s only for work,’ she tells him.

‘Ready to go?’ Phil asks, coming out of the precinct. She blushes, glad that he didn’t see them, and nods.

‘Let’s go, Olivet,’ Mike says, and when she looks back at him he winks.

 

When they reach the restaurant Phil excuses himself to greet the owner while she and Mike are seated. It’s a nicer restaurant than they usually go to for work--flowers on the table, starched white tablecloths--and Mike lives up to it, pulling out her chair for her, trailing his hand along the back of her neck before he sits down. He grins at her, knowing how he’s affecting her, and she thinks, _well, two can play at that game._

She smiles at him demurely when they’re given their menus and their waiter pours them water; Phil rejoins them a few minutes later and they study their menus carefully. Or at least she pretends to.

She starts slowly, pressing her knee against his as Phil waxes on about the manicotti and lasagne. He sucks in his breath, barely audible, and she smiles to herself.

Phil starts to ask Mike what he’d like and she increases the pressure. He falters for a moment and tries to hide it. The waiter returns and they order; she barely pays attention to her order, asking for linguine and a caesar salad to start. She pays attention as Mike and Phil brief her on the case and the suspect she’ll be interviewing later, but when the conversation changes to a less professional vein she slips her foot out of her shoe, reaching out to caress his leg.

He almost knocks over his glass of water.

‘What is with you today, Mikey?’ Phil asks, and he shrugs, then turns to raise a single eyebrow at her when Phil catches their waiter’s attention. She winks at him and he nearly bursts out laughing.

As they pay the bill the mood turns somber as she forces her mind away from her flirtations and back to the case at hand. Despite the criminals and the less-than-savory interrogation rooms, she is grateful that she can help people. She walks back to the precinct in between Mike and Phil, her mind firmly on the suspect interview ahead of her.

 

The interview takes four hours and leaves her feeling profoundly disturbed. By the time the suspect is taken back to Riker’s she’s trembling from disgust and exhaustion--for questioning, taking in everything a suspect says, and giving nothing away is exhausting. Mike is waiting for her when she leaves the interrogation room and rests his hand on her lower back, guiding her to a conference room. At this point she doesn’t care who sees them--it’s an impersonal enough touch that can easily be dismissed in light of his reputation--and lets him settle her into a chair.

‘Can I get you something, Lizzie?’ he asks. ‘Something to drink, eat?’

‘Something with sugar,’ she says, and he nods, returning promptly with a bar of chocolate. She forces herself to eat it slowly, the most effective way to calm down, breaking off each piece and savoring it, as they wait for Phil to join them.

She gives her analysis calmly, coolly, in the detached manner she knows she’s becoming famous for here in the precinct and at the DA’s office. It’s the only way she can manage to deal with some of these cases. Creating a distance between her and the people she analyzes is easiest done if she pretends there is a glass wall between them. It gives her the space to be impartial and a good profiler. She’s not going to be falsely modest; she is good, very good, at what she does.

She finishes her verbal report, promising to write up a full report for them by the end of the week. Phil thanks her and Mike offers to walk her to her car, an offer she accepts with alacrity.

His hand is warm on her back, even through the layers of silk and cashmere that make up this afternoon’s outfit. She’s grateful for his support and his warmth as they enter the biting cold.

‘When are you going to be done for the day?’ she asks after they nod at the two officers taking their smoke break.

‘Probably in an hour,’ he says, his hand straying lower. ‘Gotta finish up a couple interviews.’

‘Okay. Do you want to come over when you’re done?’ she asks offhandedly.

They’ve reached her car. He has one hand on the roof, leaning against it, and she’s standing close to him, their faces only inches apart. She wants to kiss him so badly--they’re so close--but she can’t, not here.

‘You know I would,’ he tells her. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

‘Do you want me to wait to eat? We can order in.’

‘Sounds good, Lizzie, thanks.’

‘I’ll see you soon, then. I’ll call when I’m leaving.’

‘All right,’ she says, her gaze dropping to his lips. God, she wants to kiss him… she drags her gaze away from him and opens the door to get in the car. As she slides into the seat, Mike bends down and kisses her lightly.

‘Couldn’t help myself,’ he says, shrugging, and she barely resists the urge to touch her fingers to her lips.

‘See you later.’

‘See you,’ he echoes, and smiles as she closes the door.

 

When she gets home the light on her answering machine is blinking. She presses the button, listening to Miranda telling her that Peter has to go out of town so she’s made a reservation at 21 for the two of them tomorrow, to Audrey asking if lunch or dinner on Saturday would be better, and to her mother, saying that she’d like them to come up to Contentment Island sometime soon for a weekend.

She raises an eyebrow at the last message. Apparently Mike has charmed her parents more than she could have anticipated. She’ll talk to him about it, but she’s not sure when he’ll have a weekend free, or if he’ll want to spend his weekend with her family. She wouldn’t blame him.

She goes into her room to get changed, shedding her work clothes and digging out a pair of old tennis sweatpants from Farmington and a camel cashmere sweater she hasn’t been able to throw away despite the moth holes in the cuffs. She’ll change before Mike gets here, but right now she just wants to be comfortable.

Speaking of Mike, the phone rings and she leans over to pick it up.

‘Hello?’

‘Hey, babe,’ he says. ‘Listen, I have to head down to Robinette’s office, drop off some files, but then I’ll head up, okay? I can grab something to eat on the way, back, you don’t have to wait for me.’

‘I don’t mind waiting. When do you think you’ll be back?’

‘It’s gonna be a couple hours, probably, Lizzie. I’ll give you a call when I’m done, okay?’

‘Okay,’ she says, her heart plummeting. She was anticipating having him here with her now, not in a few hours… but really she shouldn’t be feeling like this. She hadn’t thought they’d get to see each other at all before Friday, but he was here last night and he’ll be here later tonight.

‘Bye, Lizzie,’ he says, and she echoes him, then hangs up the phone.

Pushing down her disappointment, she heads to the kitchen and opens her fridge. She hasn’t been to the grocery store in weeks, it seems, and the fridge is empty besides a pitcher of water, milk, cream, condiments, and a couple bottles of champagne. She doesn’t even have eggs or butter after making breakfast this morning, so she can’t make an omelette. She looks out the window--it’s already dark and drizzling, so she’ll order in again, though she really, really needs to buy groceries on Friday.

She closes the fridge, heads over to the phone, and orders a salad and bagels for tomorrow morning from the diner. While she’s waiting for her food to arrive, she starts a load of laundry and sets aside the clothes she needs to drop off at the dry cleaner’s in the morning. Doing chores like this--the minutiae of daily life--makes her ponder how their life would be if they truly shared it.

They’d live here. That’s not in question--good apartments in this city are scarcer than gold dust. This apartment is her home. Her parents bought it right after they were married and she’s lived in it most of her life. It’s spacious and they have plenty of room for a family… 

There’s plenty of room here for them now, too. They both work long hours; they could take turns with the tasks that make daily life run--groceries, laundry, dry cleaners--and she understands his work, she’s patient with the long hours because she has the same. They are lucky that they are both in the same field--even though they have different roles they are close enough that they understand each other well.

And when they’re ready… ever since Audrey said she hoped she could return the favor… well, she had a dream last night about Audrey and Charlie’s wedding, and when she woke up she thought to herself, well, how easy it would be to imagine their own wedding.

She never thought she’d be like this, imagining a wedding and children at the beginning of a relationship, but her relationship with Mike… well, she knows that he is the one for her. And being with him… that’s what she wants. And so imagining their future… well, she’ll allow herself a little leeway.

Her phone by the door buzzes; she picks it up and asks the doorman to send up her food. It arrives promptly and she pays the delivery man, then takes her food into the kitchen. She pulls out her notes from today’s earlier session and starts to write an outline for her report. This is how she’s spent many nights alone, especially after starting work at the precinct last year, but it’s never felt so lonely before.

She sighs and forces herself to stop dwelling. She finishes her salad, cleans up the kitchen, and puts the bagels away for the morning.

He still hasn’t called.

She understands the late hours, she does--of course she does, she has her own late hours and her own responsibilities--but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t wish that he could be here with her now.

Picking up her report, she heads to the living room and focuses on her work.

 

She must fall asleep because she’s jolted abruptly awake by the sound of the phone ringing. Groping for the phone, her notebook falls off her lap--damn it!--and she picks it up just before the answering machine picks up.

‘Hello?’ she says.

‘Hey, Lizzie,’ Mike says. ‘Listen, I’m still here with Robinette, Stone showed up and decided he wanted to prep me for this trial--it’s gonna be another late night. I don’t know when I’m going to be done--I just stepped out for a second to call you.’

She rubs her eyes, looking for the clock. It’s already 11:30.

‘...just going to head home when this is done, I guess, get a few hours’ sleep before my shift.’

‘Are you sure? If you still want--’ she yawns. ‘I’ll make breakfast.’

‘I don’t want to keep you up. You know how it is, late hours, but it’s not fair to keep you up--’

‘I don’t mind. But if it’s easier for you to go home--’

‘Yeah, unfortunately, I think it will be, Lizzie. But I’ll call you tomorrow. You have dinner with Miranda and Peter, right?’

‘Just Miranda now. But I should be done around 10.’

‘Okay. Well let’s hope I’m not gonna have another sixteen-hour day tomorrow. I’ll talk to you later, okay?’

‘Okay,’ she says, disappointed. ‘Good night.’

‘Night. Sleep well, honey.’

‘You too,’ she says, and hangs up the phone.

It takes her fifteen minutes to tidy up, lock the doors, and get ready for bed. When she does climb into bed at last she stares up at the ceiling, unable to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

He finally catches a break and leaves work at 6 pm instead of 9 or 10. He’s just annoyed that the one night this week he finally finishes on time, Liz is out to dinner with Miranda. Well, he’ll grab a quick bite himself, head to his place and check his messages, then go over to hers. She said she wouldn’t be late… 

He grabs a bite at the bar near his apartment. The game is on, but he watches it with halfhearted attention. He’s never felt like this before, so head-over-heels about anyone, not even Janey Meyers in ‘82. He could’ve saved up his money for tuition way faster if he hadn’t needed to take care of business, but… he grins to himself. Glad he didn’t know Lizzie back then, he would’ve been in debt up to his eyeballs.

He finishes his burger and beer and leaves some cash on the bar before heading back to his apartment. He wants to get out of his suit but he’s never here any more and Lizzie takes care of the dry cleaning. He can wait till he gets home.

He stops suddenly in the middle of unlocking his door. Home. He meant Lizzie’s apartment, not his. What does this mean?

He finishes unlocking the door, lets himself in, and locks the door again. He presses play on his answering machine but doesn’t pay attention to the messages--Katy, Pete, his dad, Katy again, and a couple from the guys. He’s just focused on his revelation.

He came to terms with the fact that he was in love with her a month or so ago, even if he couldn’t admit it to her. She knows, he thinks, but he should say it. If he’s thinkin’ of her, of where she is, as home… well, it’s true, he realizes. Bein’ with her… when he was growin’ up there was no way in hell he ever thought of his parents’ apartment as home. And even once he got his own places they weren’t so much “home” as his crash pads. But Lizzie’s place… she’s made him welcome, even going so far as to stock the booze he likes, and she has made it so clear to him that she wants him there, with her, always. She even installed a tie rack for his ties the other week. He couldn’t contain the feeling of… of rightness, of joy, that he felt when he’d opened the closet that morning and saw it. She loved him; he knows it, he knew it then, and he’d taken her in his arms and spun her around until she laughed.

He listens to his messages again and takes note of them this time. Katy saying how much she liked Liz. Pete and his dad asking when they were gonna meet her. Billy Marino asking if he wants to come to the house for dinner.

That done, he grabs a CD he picked up the other day and wanted to listen to, then heads back to his car and Lizzie’s apartment.

 

He finds a spot on her side street and uses the side entrance to her building. He doesn’t like going through her lobby without her because her doormen--hell, with his background he wouldn’t be good enough to be a doorman in her building and he feels awkward having guys like him wait on him.

He’s disappointed when he unlocks her apartment door and the lights are off, even though it’s only 8 and the dinner reservation was at 7. He heads to the bedroom, leaving his shoes and coat in the hall closet. His suit and tie need to go to the cleaners; he sheds them and drops them in the dry cleaning bag before going to take a shower.

He loves her bathroom. Hell, he loves her apartment, but her bathroom has a great shower, an endless supply of hot water, and great water pressure. Plus, she buys way nicer shampoo and soap for him than he can afford. God, she’s wonderful, he thinks, washing the shampoo out of his hair. She loves him. It fills him with a warm glow, something he’s never felt before her, that he’s loved and wanted. 

He’s drying his hair, dressed in jeans and a tshirt, when the buzzer rings. He leaves the towel on the towel rack as he heads out to the hallway to pick up the phone.

‘Yeah?’

‘Hello, Detective Logan, this is Tony from downstairs.’

‘Hey, Tony. What’s up?’ he asks, feeling awkward as hell doing this.

‘Dr. Olivet has a visitor, Mr. Nick Smith. Is she at home?’

‘Um, she’s not back yet, but you can send him up.’ Nick Smith… who’s that? He’s curious as to why a guy is callin’ on her at… 8:30 at night.

‘All right. Thank you, Detective Logan.’

‘Thank you, Tony,’ he says, and hangs up.

He hears the elevator a couple minutes later, but lets Liz’s mystery guest wait a minute or two before he opens the front door.

He recognizes the man in front of him immediately--he’s the guy in the photo with Liz in the living room, both of them in white tie attire, her head thrown back, laughing. This guy is maybe ten years older than he was in the picture and definitely dishevelled, tie wonky and suit a bit rumpled.

‘When will Liz be back?’ the man asks immediately.

‘I dunno,’ he replies. ‘She’s at dinner with Miranda.’

‘Christ,’ Smith says, running his hand through his hair. ‘I need a drink. Can I come in?’

Well, he’s obviously close with Liz if he’s in a picture in her living room, so he shrugs and steps back to let him in. Nick makes his way to the living room and the bar, where he pours himself a hefty scotch. He takes a sip, then says, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, do you want one?’

‘I’ll get it,’ he says, amused and annoyed. ‘So, you’re Nick?’

‘Ah, yes. I’m sorry,’ he says, half-rising from his seat on the sofa, extending his hand. ‘And you’re Mike Logan. I’ve heard all about you from Sally and Audrey and Liz.’

‘Ah,’ he replies, disconcerted. ‘Well, I haven’t heard much about you.’

He laughs, takes another sip of his scotch, and says, ‘I deserved that. I’m sorry for forcing myself in, I need to talk to Lilibet, though, very badly.’

He stiffens at the nickname. ‘Lilibet?’

‘Shit,’ Nick says. ‘Don’t tell her I called her that, all right? She won’t let us call her that anymore, not since she was seven, but she’s always been Lilibet to me.’ Nick takes another sip of scotch and he does, too, trying to stay calm and not let jealousy get the better of him. ‘Listen, I’m sorry. I’m being rude. It’s just--I’m sorry, I’m on the verge of being broken up with by my boyfriend, and Lilibet has always been able to--’ he sighs, loudly, takes another swig of his drink, and closes his eyes. ‘When will she be back?’ 

He takes pity on the guy, disproportionately relieved that he's not interested in her like that. ‘Liz said their reservation was at 7, but she hoped it would be an early night, so probably any time now.’

‘Thank God,’ Nick says with feeling, draining the rest of his scotch and heading to the bar to get another one. ‘Tom’s been cagey lately but today I got home early and he wasn't there.’

‘Maybe he had to work late,’ he suggests, and Nick shakes his head. 

‘No, he works from home on Thursdays. He's a Ph.D. candidate at Columbia, he's writing a dissertation on Fourierism--’

‘On what?’ he asks.

‘Don't ask,’ Nick replies darkly. ‘Anyway, he wasn't there when I got home at 4:30, and at 6:30 he called and said he was out with a friend.’

‘So?’

‘He doesn't have friends. Well, not outside the SFRP. And I called everyone and they haven't seen him. Liz was the only one who didn't pick up, either here or at her office, so I thought he might be here. She's the one he likes the best, you see, and she's the most understanding--everyone likes her the best, really. So I thought he might be here, or if he wasn't she could talk to me, and--’ he draws a deep breath, consciously getting a grip, then takes a deep swallow of scotch. 

‘I'm gonna get you some water,’ he tells Liz’s distraught friend, and he heads to the kitchen to do so. As he fills up a glass from the tap, he wonders what the hell he’s gonna do until Lizzie gets home. Her friend is obviously in a spiral--he knows the signs, he’s been there--and he doesn’t know how he can say. He just hopes Lizzie gets back soon.

Nick has thankfully not refilled his scotch glass when he returns. He’s abandoned it on the table and is leaning back in the slipper chair by the fireplace, a silver-framed picture in his hand. It’s the one of him and Liz, he realizes.

‘When was that taken?’ he asks, handing over the glass of water.

‘The Debutante Cotillion and Christmas Ball,’ he says, still staring at the picture. ‘Liz was presented there. I was her escort.’ He sighs, setting the picture down. ‘She was a beautiful deb, and a lot of fun. I was glad to be her escort. She’s always been a good friend.’

‘How long have you known each other?’ He sits down in the other slipper chair with his scotch.

‘God, ages,’ Nick says, looking up at the ceiling. ‘All our lives. I grew up down the block. My parents, before the divorce, had a place near her parents in Connecticut. After the divorce my father moved upstate with my Horrible Stepmother, and my mother kept the place in East Hampton, and we all spent time at the Maidstone together.’ He sighs. ‘Sometimes I wish we were all still kids. It was easier.’

He doesn’t know what to say--being a kid was never easier for him, hell no--but luckily he doesn’t have to because he hears Liz’s keys in the door. He rises from his chair and is down the hall before Nick can say anything.

She’s beaming at him and comes forward to embrace him as soon as she closes and locks the door.

‘I saw the lights on, darling, and I just couldn’t get here fast enough,’ she says, pressing her cold face to his. Her arms are around him and he holds her tight, relishing the feel of her against him, wanting only to take her to bed.

‘Your friend Nick is here,’ he tells her after a moment, and she pulls back.

‘Nick? Why?’

‘Some trouble with his boyfriend,’ he says. ‘He looks like he’s in a bad way.’

She pulls back from him and sighs. ‘All right. Is he in the living room?’

He nods and she hugs him once, quickly, before shedding her coat and shoes and heading down the hall. He stays in the foyer for a minute, hanging up her coat, before walking down the hallway to the living room.

Lizzie is holding him tight, her back to the door, while Nick has buried his face in her shoulder and is crying. He steps away, down the hall to the kitchen, wanting to give them some privacy.

He hears their voices after a few minutes carrying down the hall.

‘...going to leave me, Lilibet. I don’t know where he is.’

‘Maybe he has a friend you don’t know about.’

‘Oh, I’m sure he does. Someone he’s not going to tell me about, because he’s going to leave me for them. Who knows, maybe it’s Serena again. Isn’t it always her?’

‘...sure that’s not true. She’s married--’

‘Yeah, to Rick. C’mon, Lilibet, you know as well as I do that they have an “open” relationship. Whatever that means. I think it means that the condom broke, he knocked her up, and for the good of all, including his stupid fucking title, they got married and he continued to play around on the side.’ There’s a pause, then he continues, ‘but she’d never be so crass. It’d be different with Serena, because even if she and Tom aren’t fucking, they’re having an emotional affair.’

‘You don’t know that, Nick. You don’t know that anything’s going on, let alone that something’s happening between the two of them.’

‘But something’s going on with Tom. Something’s happening.’ He sighs. ‘We spent a month at fucking Brook Farm for his dissertation. Do you know how boring West Roxbury, Massachusetts is in the dead of winter?’

He hears her laugh. ‘But that’s love, darling. Doing things you hate for the person you love.’

‘I don’t know, Lilibet. I complained a lot.’

‘You complain all the time. I’m sure Tom is used to it by now.’

‘Then why is he doing this?’

‘I don’t know,’ she tells him. ‘I don’t know.’

 

They talk for a long time and he tunes out as he sits in the kitchen, snacking on chips from the pantry. Finally, almost an hour later, Liz appears in the doorway.

‘Nick is going to spend the night in the guest room,’ she says. ‘I don’t want him to go home alone.’

‘Okay,’ he says, resigned to this by now. At least, hopefully, she’ll come to bed soon.

‘Thank you for being so understanding,’ she says, coming over to embrace him. ‘I’ll be in soon, I’m just going to get him settled.’

‘Good,’ he says, and kisses her lightly before she goes to collect her friend. He leans against the kitchen counter, finishing his beer, giving her time to settle him in the room before walking down the hallway.

The door to the guest room is almost closed, but he can still hear them talking. Feeling guilty, but wanting to know what they’re talking about, he stops to listen.

‘You look happy, Lilibet. I haven't seen you this happy since the Duke.’

‘I've never been this happy,’ she tells him, and after a pause says, ‘And anyway, he wasn't a duke.’ 

‘He’s the heir to a dukedom.’

‘A dukedom that no longer exists,’ she returns. ‘I loved him very much, Nick. But after Mike… being with him, it's the first time in nearly a decade I've stopped wondering what might have been.’

‘That's good, isn't it?’ Nick says, his voice soft and serious.

‘It is. I thought I knew what love was, Nick, but what I feel for Mike is far beyond anything I've ever felt before, even for Luc. What I felt for him… it's not even a hundredth of what I feel for Mike, and I was ready to put my career, my life, on hold and move to Morocco with him.’ 

‘I'm glad you didn't, Lilibet. Paris I could handle, but Morocco… there's only so many times I could have rocked the casbah.’ They laugh, then he says, ‘I wish I could be as sure as you that Tom is the one for me. Sometimes I think he is, and others I think if I have to hear another word about fucking Fourierism I'll jump off the roof.’

‘That’s natural in any relationship,’ she tells him gently. ‘But I wish you could be sure too, Nick. Look, we’ll talk more in the morning.’ 

‘He's hot, you know. Don't restrain yourself on my account.’

She laughs. ‘I won't. Good night, Nicky.’

‘Good night, Lilibet.’

That’s his cue to sneak down the hallway and get into bed. He does so, shedding his jeans and climbing between the sheets in just his boxers and a tshirt. He’s left the door cracked and he hears it open a few minutes later.

‘Sorry I've kept you waiting,’ she says, joining him at last.

‘That's all right,’ he says. She’s moved to her dresser to collect her pajamas, but she turns her head to smile at him.

‘I’ll just be a minute,’ she tells him, and he nods, watching as she collects a nightgown and disappears into the bathroom. He waits for her, listening to the water run and her movements, before she finally, finally comes back into the room and climbs into bed next to him.

‘I love you, darling,’ she tells him. ‘I love you so much, and I’m so lucky.’

He embraces her, kissing her forehead. ‘I love you too.’ He never says it, but he means it, and he wants her to know. ‘So, who was the Luc guy that Nick mentioned?’

She sighs. ‘I can’t believe he told you about him.’

Should he tell her he was eavesdropping? ‘I overheard you guys talking.’

‘Oh. Well, then you must have heard me tell him that what I felt for him was nothing compared to what I feel for you.’

‘Yeah,’ he says, and remembering her words, and her words now, wrap him in love.

She sighs, leans back against the pillows, and closes her eyes. ‘We met in the Luxembourg Gardens when I was nineteen and in Paris for the year studying at the Sorbonne. He sat down on the bench next to me. It was a week before my twentieth birthday. He invited me for a glass of wine and I’d agreed, and we were walking to the bistro when I stumbled and twisted my ankle. He was… solicitous, charming. He helped me back to his house and called his doctor, and… well, after that, we were together. He was the first person I’d slept with. We were together for almost two years.’

‘You were in Paris for that long?’ he asks.

‘No,’ she replies. ‘Not all of it. I was there for almost a year, then came back to finish my last semester at Barnard, then went back to Paris in January until August that year when things ended. When I was here, we took turns coming back and forth each weekend on the Concorde.’

Jesus, he thinks. The Concorde every weekend? Must have cost that duke a pretty penny.

‘How did it end?’ he asks. ‘Something about Morocco?’

‘He was in the foreign service. He’d organized a position at the French mission to the UN, so he could come back to New York with me while I started my Ph.D. A month before we were going to move, he’d come back from the Elysée and told me that he’d been appointed the Ambassador to Morocco. He tried to turn it down but he couldn’t, and… and he’d spent the morning picking up a ring from the jeweler. It had been his grandmother’s and he’d had it cleaned and resized for me. He was going to ask me to marry him… he couldn’t, he told me, after that, couldn’t ask me to give up my life and move with him to Morocco.’ She sighs again. ‘I was twenty-one, almost twenty-two. I was willing to go, but he was right.’

‘Did you ever get back in touch with him?’ he asks, trying to hide his surprise at her revelation. She was so young… he still thinks they’re pretty young, but she was ready to move with him to Morocco at twenty-one? She must’ve loved him. But she loves him more, he reminds himself.

‘He sent me flowers when I finished my Ph.D. Two hundred and seventy-six lilies, to be exact, and his note said there was one lily for every week we were apart, a lily for each day being impractical and a lily for each time he'd thought of me being impossible.’ She closes her eyes. ‘I wrote him a long letter, after that, telling him I still wanted to be with him, that I could figure out what I was doing with my career as long as we were together. And I called, too, a dozen times… I was never put through to him; I never got a response.’ 

‘That's… awful,’ he says, appalled, heart aching for her. ‘Cold.’ 

‘Yes,’ she says softly. ‘It broke my heart. I didn't think he was like that…’ she sighs. ‘In any case, Mike, it was over after that, definitively so. And then we met and I fell head over heels for you, and I know that whatever I'd felt for Luc, what I felt for you… what I feel for you…’

He stops her with a kiss. ‘I love you, Lizzie,’ he tells her. ‘I'm in love with you.’

She beams at him. ‘I'm in love with you, too.’

‘Do you wish you were with Lucas? A duchess?’ he asks, compelled to ask, and really, that’s the most astonishing thing about it all.

She shakes her head. ‘I did, for a long time, but if I had married him when I was twenty-one… we never would have met, Mike, and I wouldn't give you up for anything.’

He pulls her tight to him. ‘I wouldn’t, either.’

She tilts her face up to him for a kiss and he bends to touch his lips to hers. She holds him tight and deepens the kiss and he wants only to make love to her, to make her know how much he loves her. She gasps, lightly, as he slips his hand up her nightgown, and he rolls her onto her back.

‘I love you,’ she whispers, and he smiles down at her. ‘I love you so much.’


	8. Chapter 8

When he wakes up in the morning, Lizzie has already left the bed, the bathroom door standing open with the steam from her shower escaping. He sighs and stretches--he’d told her last night he had the day off and she’d promised they’d spend it together, as she didn’t have patients today--and he’d hoped they’d be able to wake up together and… 

Oh, right. Her friend spent the night. They’re probably in the kitchen. He gets out of bed, uses the bathroom, and gets dressed in sweats and a tshirt, then heads out to the kitchen.

They are both there, as he expected, though Nick is at the stove cooking an omelette and Liz is leaning back in one of her kitchen chairs, feet propped up on another, sipping coffee in her silk robe. When she sees him, she smiles, holds out a hand to him, and pulls him down to kiss her.

‘You wouldn’t know it to look at him, darling, but Nicky actually makes a great breakfast,’ she says. ‘He offered to cook for us this morning and I couldn’t resist.’

He sits in the chair where she had been resting her feet, pulling them back into his lap.

‘Good morning, Mike,’ Nick says, turning to look at him. He spies bacon on the stove, too, and his stomach rumbles. ‘Do you want coffee?’

‘Yeah, black, one sugar, please. Thanks,’ he adds after a moment, accepting the cup. He takes a sip--it’s good, and he looks at Liz and raises an eyebrow.

‘I know. I keep Nicky around just for the food, honestly,’ she tells him.

‘Hey!’ Nick exclaims, turning to look at her, pointing the spatula at her. ‘I’ll have you know that we are very good friends.’

‘I know, I know,’ she says, laughing. ‘I was just teasing you.’

This is a new side of her, he realizes. Light, joking with her friend, someone she's known all her life, so much unsaid between their little private exchanges. He wants them to be like this. He wants to have that sort of history with her, where they can laugh and joke over breakfast on a Friday morning. 

He's been absentmindedly rubbing her feet as he watches them, but when Liz sighs he turns to look at her. 

‘That feels amazing,’ she tells him, smiling, and suddenly all he wants is to pull her into his lap and…

‘Do you want white, rye, or wheat toast?’ Nick asks. 

‘I don't think I have rye--’ Liz begins. 

‘You had nothing in your kitchen, Lilibet, I ran out to Citarella this morning. Do you really think the coffee you're drinking was made with that pre-ground crap you buy?’

She shrugged. ‘It works.’

‘Yes, but my way is better,’ he tells her, easing the omelette onto a plate. ‘So, toast?’

‘Wheat for me,’ she says, and looks at him. ‘Mike?’

‘Yeah, that's fine,’ he says, and watches as Nick slides a few slices of bread into the broiler. 

‘I suspected there was another motivation behind your offer to make breakfast, my dear, but going all the way over to Citarella when you could have gone to the corner shop…?’ she says, her voice careful. ‘What did the doorman say?’

What doorman? he thinks, and watches as Nick’s shoulders slump.

‘That Tom had come back around 10:30 with Baroness Von Sloneker,’ he says, facing the stove. ‘And that she hadn't left yet.’

‘Oh, Nicky,’ she says softly. ‘Oh, Nicky, I'm so sorry.’

Nick gives a cold, humorless little laugh. ‘I should have known. I should have known he wasn't going to stick around. Who would, with me?’

She eases her feet off his lap and stands up, walking to Nick. 

‘Darling, it's all right,’ she whispers, embracing him. ‘Tom is an idiot. What did Charlie say? That he was an egotist? Well, that dovetails nicely with my professional diagnosis.’

He laughs a little, his face buried in her shoulder as she strokes his back. He feels like he's watching a movie, almost, that he isn't really here. 

‘He's not worth it, Nicky,’ she continues. ‘Anyone who is still hung up on Serena Slocum after all these years… please. It's as though he never left boarding school behind.’

He pulls back from her. ‘I guess he hasn't.’ He sighs, rubs his eyes, then looks at him, forcing a smile. ‘Sorry for the show with breakfast, Mike.’

He shrugs. ‘No big deal, but it smells like the bacon might be burning,’ he offers, trying to offset the tension in the room. It works, because Nick curses, turns to the stove, and busies himself with dishing up food. While he’s occupied, Lizzie comes over to him, hugs him tight, and whispers, ‘I love you.’

He catches her hand as she walks to her chair and squeezes it. She shoots him a smile and he returns it, relieved that the storm in the kitchen has kept them out of it.

 

Nick makes an effort to wear a cheerful face throughout breakfast, presenting them with a ham and cheese omelette, bacon, toast, fruit salad, and hash browns, all of which are delicious. He and Liz keep up a light conversation about Audrey and Charlie’s upcoming wedding, at which she is apparently the maid of honor and Nick is best man, and tell him all about how Audrey and Charlie got together, and the wedding plans they've made. 

‘Do I still get to escort you or is Nick taking you now?’ he asks. 

‘No, you and I are still going together,’ she says, leaning over to squeeze his hand. ‘You're not getting out of that so easily.’

He grins at her, glad of it even if he doesn't want to go to this stupid society wedding. ‘At least I get to take the best-looking bridesmaid home with me,’ he tells her. ‘Every man’s dream.’

She laughs, the light, carefree sound he loves. 

‘I don't know if you'll say that after you see the dresses Audrey is leaning towards,’ Nick tells him. ‘God, Charlie showed me some of the pictures…’

‘Oh no!’ Liz moans. ‘Please don't say they're poofy with big sleeves.’

‘You’ve seen them?’’ Nick asks, mock-surprised, and Liz buries her head in her hands. 

‘You look beautiful whatever you wear,’ he attempts to reassure her while trying not to laugh as Nick shakes his head and makes faces at him over Liz’s bent head. 

‘I hope you still believe that when you see the dress,’ she says, words muffled, and he loses the battle and laughs.

 

He comes to the conclusion, at the end of breakfast, that he likes Nick. Breakfast was great, he’s funny, and he cleans up while he and Lizzie retreat to the living room.

‘God, I feel awful for him,’ she says softly, snuggling up to him on the sofa. ‘They've been together for a long time now, almost seven years, and for Tom to do this to him… I mean, he’s always been an egotist, but this--this is deliberate, and calculated and possibly the cruellest thing he’s ever done.’

He tightens his embrace. ‘And has he done this sort of thing before?’

She shrugs. ‘Not like this. Nick is a sensitive person, you know, under the brash exterior. This is hurting him a lot.’

He nods, his chin rubbing against the top of her head.

‘I love you, Mike,’ she says. She's said it more in the last twelve hours than she has the rest of the time they've been together. She's obviously reassuring herself, and him, that they're not like Nick and Tom. No, they aren't. He's not gonna lose her, not if he can help it. 

She shifts her weight, lifting her head so she can look at him, and he captures her lips with his, deepening the kiss immediately. She's not wearing anything underneath her robe, he discovers, and she moans into his mouth as he moves the silk away. God, he loves how responsive she is, how she wants him always… his thoughts trail off as he lowers his head and hears the quick beating of her heart and her breath, which is coming in gasps now. 

‘I love you,’ she tells him, and he kisses her heart, then goes lower, lower, moving the robe away, enjoying the way she moves beneath him and her hands in his hair and the way she tries to be quiet as she comes, gasping his name, her grip tightening for an endless minute as her back arches and her body tenses before finally, finally, she subsides against the cushions.

He kisses his way back up her body, resting his head against her chest, letting her hold him and rub little circles on his back as they lay quietly, listening to Nick wash up in the kitchen.


	9. Chapter 9

Nick finally heads out about an hour later, after they all finish another pot of coffee and after he is assured, by Liz, that he can come back any time.

‘But call first, darling, before coming over,’ she insists as she hugs him at the door.

‘I will. Believe me, I’m not about to interrupt your sex life any more than I already have. At least you have one,’ Nick tells her, and kisses her goodbye before extending a hand to him. ‘Good to see you, Mike.’

‘You too,’ he replies, wrapping his arm around Lizzie as Nick waves once more and heads to the elevator. She closes the door and then looks up at him, sighing. 

‘He’ll either call in a couple of hours, after he and Tom fight, or he won't call at all because they've made up,’ she tells him. ‘So please let's go back to bed now, while we have the chance.’

He's curious about this situation now but there's plenty of time to ask her questions about it. 

‘I'm never gonna say no to that,’ he says instead, grinning at her and letting her pull him down the hall to their bedroom. 

 

‘So tell me the story,’ he says, running his hand through her hair. ‘The backstory to this whole mess your friend’s in.’

‘How much time do you have?’ she jokes. ‘God, it could fill a novel.’ She pushes herself up to sit. ‘Let's see. Well, to understand this you have to know Serena Slocum. Audrey claims that she's basically a good person, but I'm not sure. We went to Farmington together. She had an incredible number of boyfriends at all the different prep schools. She only managed it because she could write three letters per study hall period while the rest of us could only manage one. Also, all her boyfriends were at different schools. Tom was one of her boyfriends.’

‘I begin to see the problem,’ he says, and she nods. 

‘One winter when we were in college--this was the first year I was in Paris, and I'd stayed there, so I only learned of all this later--Tom somehow got included in the SFRP. And Nick had a big crush on him, even though he and Sally had something going on, and even he and Cynthia… anyway, Nick had a crush on Tom and made sure he’d come with them to all the dances and afterwards to the different after-parties. And Audrey had had a crush on Tom when we were in school--Serena used to read his letters aloud--and it looked like they were going to start something, but then Serena broke up with Rick Von Sloneker--they're married now--and she and Tom got back together--and Audrey and Charlie got together--and then, eventually, Nick and Tom got together the next year, and they've been together ever since. But Nick despises Serena--for good reason--and especially hates Rick, who is the worst sort of person.’ She takes a deep breath and smiles at him sheepishly. ‘Did you follow any of that?’

‘Enough to realize why Nick’s so hurt,’ he says, and it’s true, that’s the thread he’s grasped from her convoluted explanation. God, his longterm boyfriend going back to his ex-girlfriend… the wife of the person he disliked most… no wonder he came over here late last night, looking for help.

And Lizzie’s always been good at helping people.

‘Can we change the subject?’ he asks, and she nods, and he casts around, desperately trying to think of something to say. ‘Katy left me a message, asked if we could come over for dinner tonight,’ he says, remembering suddenly. He hadn't planned on mentioning it, wanting just to stay in with her, but things change. ‘At 7. D’you want to go?’

She looks confused at both the change of topic and the lack of notice, but she nods. ‘That would be great.’

‘Okay, great,’ he says, relieved, and relieved that they’ll be out of the house so that they can spend time together. Yeah, he liked Nick, he felt for him, but what Tom did to him… he’s pulled that sort of shit in the past, and he doesn’t want to be reminded of it now. Not that he's ever gonna do it again, but… ‘I'll give her a call.’

‘Great,’ she says brightly, and kisses him. ‘I'm going to take a shower, then.’

‘Okay,’ he says, and watches as she heads to the bathroom. He waits until he hears the shower turn on before picking up the phone and dialing Katy’s number. The phone rings out and he leaves her a message, saying that he and Liz are gonna come to dinner. 

Hanging up the phone, he looks at the clock. It's almost 1pm and he decides he’ll join his girlfriend in the shower. From the way she beams at him, he knows she doesn't mind. 

 

It’s five o’clock and they need to leave soon, but she’s standing in front of her closet, wondering what to wear.

‘Somethin’ nice but casual,’ he told her, but that didn’t help her narrow it down. Finally she decides on grey flannel trousers and a navy v-neck sweater--cashmere, from the feel of it, he thinks, taking her into his arms. He’d been dressed for ages, slacks and a nice shirt, with a sports jacket, and he’d been watching her, enjoying a rare moment of indecision from her. She’s always so sure of everything she does, it’s a welcome reminder that she’s human, too, even if she’s a way better person than he is.

‘Are you finally ready?’ he teases her, and she laughs.

‘Just a minute,’ she tells him, and slips out of his embrace and heads to the bathroom. He flops back on the bed. Usually, he’s frustrated by the endless waiting involved in going out, but this is rare for Lizzie, and besides--she wants to look her best for his family, for him, and that’s everything.

She emerges a few minutes later, having donned small gold earrings and her perfume.

‘Now I’m ready,’ she smiles, and he takes her into his arms again. ‘I love you.’

He kisses her, deeply, and she responds for a few wonderful moments before she pushes him back.

‘We’ve got to go,’ she reminds him, and he groans.

 

They take the subway. He’s gonna want a few drinks with dinner, so it’s better to take the subway. He doesn’t want her driving his car--it’s not nearly as nice as hers, and the seat adjuster doesn’t work properly anymore, so he doesn’t want it to get messed up--and if they drive hers, like he told her, it probably won’t be there when they get out. And hell, she might want a drink, too.

The subway ride is long but they get seats on the 6 once the train reaches 68th, and she sits snuggled under his arm for the rest of the ride down to Union Square. It’s a long-ish walk from Union Square to Katy and Pat’s apartment on 14th and Avenue C, but pleasant enough once they cross into Stuy Town and more than pleasant with her hand in his.

They stop at a liquor store just outside Stuy Town so that she can pick up a bottle of Bushmills, which she insists on, then they make their way up to Katy and Pat’s.

Katy answers the door after he knocks twice, looking flustered.

‘Mike! Liz!’ she exclaims, blocking the door with her body. ‘So good to see you.’

She’s hiding something, and he looks at her, raising an eyebrow.

It all comes out in a rush. ‘Dad’s here. Pat told him that you were comin’ over with Liz and he showed up because he wants to meet her.’

Fuck, he thinks. This is too much, too soon. His relationship with his father is… difficult, to say the least, and introducing Liz to him now… a pressure on his arm prompts him to look at her, and she’s looking… curious.

‘We can go,’ he tells her, looking between her and Katy. But it’s too late; he can hear his father’s voice booming, ‘Is that Mike?’ and Katy lifts her shoulders in a helpless shrug.

‘It will be fine,’ Lizzie whispers, as Dad comes up behind Katy and opens the door.

He’s beaming at them. ‘Mikey!’ Dermot Logan exclaims, and meets his sharp blue eyes. He’s still a handsome man at only 56, having had him at 22, and he’d walked a beat until his heart transplant two years ago. They look alike, he knows, even though Dermot’s hair has gone silver now and he doesn’t have Dermot’s blue eyes but his mother’s hazel.

‘Hi, Dad,’ he says. His dad smiles at him.

‘Hi, Mikey.’ He claps a hand on his shoulder.

‘Um, Dad, this is Liz Olivet. My girlfriend,’ he says, squeezing Liz’s hand tight. He sees his father’s gaze drop to their clasped hands and he knows he hasn’t missed anything. Dermot looks back up at him, then shifts to Liz, and grins at her.

‘Dermot Logan. It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ he says, extending his hand. Liz has to drop his to shake his father’s, which she does, smiling at him.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, too,’ she says, and glances quickly at him. 

‘Come in,’ Katy says, preventing any further conversation, and she and Dad step back to let them into the apartment. He lets Liz precede him, running his hand down her back to comfort him, and she looks over her shoulder and smiles.

‘It’ll be okay,’ she mouths, and he nods, willing himself to believe her.

Katy is keeping up a running conversation as they go down the hall. ‘Tommy’s asleep, he wanted to stay up but he’d had a busy day and just crashed… I’m making Irish stew, I hope that’s okay… Pat will be home soon, he just had a last-minute delivery…’ 

Liz hands Katy the bottle when they reach the living room--she smiles in real delight.

‘You’re a treasure, Liz Olivet,’ Katy tells her, grinning. ‘Dad, why don’t you open this, okay?’

‘You drink whiskey?’ Dad asks Liz, who nods as he accepts the bottle from Katy. He looks up at her in surprise. ‘This is a really nice bottle.’

For the first time she looks uncomfortable, reminded of the huge economic divide between them, so he jumps in and says, ‘Well, we showed up last minute so we wanted to get somethin’ nice for Katy and Pat.’

She shoots him a small smile when his dad accepts the explanation and goes into the kitchen to get glasses. Katy steps forward and gives him a quick, hard, hug.

‘I’m sorry about this,’ she says in an undertone. ‘I tried to call but you didn’t pick up.’

‘I was at Liz’s,’ he says in explanation.

‘I’ll give you the phone number, Katy,’ Liz says, and Katy shoots her a relieved grin.

‘I said it already, but you are a treasure, Liz,’ Katy says, and reaches out to squeeze her hand. ‘Thank you.’

Liz squeezes back, dropping Katy’s hand as Dad comes back in, juggling four glasses and the bottle.

‘Get your coats off,’ Dermot tells them, ‘and sit down. Don’t want this whiskey to go to waste.’

He helps Lizzie off with her coat, the expensive wool heavy in his hands. He’s looking at her from their eyes, from his father’s eyes, and he sees a rich, smart, beautiful woman more at home in penthouse apartments than in Stuy Town, who buys a fifty-dollar bottle of whiskey as a matter of course, who’s wearing more than he takes home in a week to a casual dinner. And then she turns and smiles at him, and he remembers that whatever else she may be, whatever he is, she loves him. He sets her coat down, shrugs out of his, and joins her on the sofa, wrapping his arm around her.

His father, sitting in the armchair across from the sofa, misses nothing, but doesn’t say anything at the moment, just hands them each a whiskey. Katy sinks down in the other armchair, holding her glass.

They wait, awkwardly, while Dermot looks at each of them, before he raises his glass. ‘Sláinte,’ he says, and they echo him, Lizzie’s tongue stumbling on the unfamiliar Irish. He glances at her; her face has a faint flush as she sips her whiskey.

‘I’ve got to check on the stew,’ Katy says, leaving her glass on the end table.

‘So tell me about yourself, Liz. Where are you from?’ his dad asks.

She rests her whiskey on her knee. ‘I’m from the city. I grew up here,’ she says.

‘Where?’ he presses.

She shoots him a quick glance, then turns back to his father and says, calmly, ‘Lenox Hill.’

Dermot’s eyebrow raises and he looks at him before looking back at Liz. ‘And how did you and Mike meet?’

He forces himself not to shift restlessly, knowing his father will notice, and Lizzie says, ‘We work together. I’m a psychologist and I work with the 27th Precinct.’

His eyebrow raises further, but Liz is perfectly calm, serene even. She takes a sip of her whiskey.

‘I’m impressed, Mikey,’ his father says after a few long moments. ‘Seems like you’re finally growing up.’

Liz rests her hand on his knee, quelling his immediate desire to retort, and smiles sweetly at his father. ‘I’m lucky to have him in my life.’

They hold each other’s gaze for a long moment before his father barks a laugh. ‘Good for you, Mikey,’ he tells him, looking away from Liz at last. ‘She’s a keeper.’

‘Yeah,’ he says, meeting her gaze. He squeezes her shoulder and she smiles at him. ‘She is.’

 

Katy emerges a few minutes later, and just when the stew is ready Pat comes in, brushing snow off his shoulders.

‘Starting to come down out there,’ he tells them, shrugging off his coat. ‘Did you guys drive?’

He shakes his head. ‘Subway.’

‘Well, it’s gonna be hard to get a cab to head back uptown,’ he replies, then comes over to give Liz a kiss on the cheek. ‘It’s good to see you both. Thanks for coming down.’

Liz smiles at him. ‘It’s good to see you too. I’m glad we could make it.’

Pat grins at him at Dermot, then turns to Katy, emerging from the kitchen. ‘Smells great, honey.’

She returns his smile. ‘Thanks. Dinner’s ready. Can everyone head to the table?’

‘I’ll pour you a glass,’ Dad tells Pat, and proceeds to do so, topping off their glasses as well. Lizzie rises with a bit less grace than usual, and he realizes she’s had two triple whiskies on an empty stomach. She can hold her booze, but not when she’s drinking with the Irish, and he grasps her elbow to steady her.

She grins at him. ‘Thanks,’ she whispers, a bit louder than she intended. Dad turns to look at them, but she doesn’t notice, her grin widening as he smiles down at her.

‘You gonna join us?’ Dermot asks, and she turns to look at him, still smiling.

‘Yes, thank you,’ she says, and he walks with her and pulls out her chair, settling her into it before she can stumble. ‘Thank you, darling,’ she tells him.

He squeezes her shoulder lightly, then makes for the seat next to her. He pulls the chair out and his dad slips into it.

‘Thanks, Mikey,’ he says, and his grin says he knows exactly what he’s doing. Pat’s already on the other side of her, and she looks at him with something approaching panic as he’s forced to the complete opposite end of the table. He doesn’t want to sit next to his dad, so he takes the seat next to Pat at the round table, leaving the remaining seat for Katy.

At least the food is delicious, he thinks, as he watches his father try to charm Lizzie. She’s stopped drinking whiskey, instead choosing to sip from the ice water Katy brought her at her request, and she makes a dent in the stew set in front of her.

Pat and Katy try to run interference, but Dad ignores them, focusing completely at Lizzie. She shoots glances at him throughout the meal, and eventually picks up her glass of whiskey again when she sees he can’t help her.

Dermot coaxes a lot out of her--the house in Connecticut, for one, and then the fact that her father and godfather run the bank where his dad has an account. Dermot jokes that if they get married, he should get a better interest rate. At that, she downs her whiskey and asks him for another.

He knows what she’s doing. She’s trying to distract his dad, to keep him from harping on him, to keep their relationship and where they’re going to themselves. She knows the complicated relationship he and his father have better than anyone besides Katy and Pete. He’s always done this--tried to charm his girlfriends, to show that old Dermot Logan still has it, and he was successful at that, too, for a long time. The girls he’d bring home were flattered by the attention and his good looks and charm, so he’d stopped bringing them home. This is the first time since the Academy his family has met anyone he’s been seeing. And that’s because this--well, this is something real.

When Pat clears the table Lizzie stands up with relief, wobbling a bit, and he pushes his chair back with alacrity. 

‘Let’s go into the living room,’ Katy says, and he makes it to Lizzie before she can start for the living room. He’s afraid she’s going to wobble, now that’s she’s had three triple whiskies and not enough dinner to soak it up. She leans into him, wrapping her arm around his waist, and when Dermot tries to make a remark she smiles sweetly again and asks him about his former beat.

Finally, finally, they’ve drunk their coffee and Lizzie has sobered up a bit, but not nearly enough for them to walk back to the subway, especially in the snow. He’s feeling the booze a bit himself, too, and he rubs his eyes as he tries to think how they’re gonna get home. Katy and Pete don’t have a car, and neither does his dad, and the view from the window shows it’s snowed a couple inches already. They’re just gonna have to take their chances getting a cab, he guesses.

Lizzie is saying in the background, ‘Dinner was delicious, Katy, thank you. May I have some more coffee please?’

And Dermot says, ‘Are you sure you don’t want some more whiskey?’

‘Mr. Logan,’ she says, and he can hear the steel in her voice. ‘One might think you’re trying to get me drunk.’

‘Sure, you’ve only had a few,’ he tells her, and he watches their reflections in the window.

‘I won’t pretend I can keep up with you. I know that Mike can drink me under the table, and I’m sure you could too,’ she says. ‘And besides, I did want to save some of that bottle for Katy and Pat.’

He wants to cheer.

Dermot says, ‘Are you sure?’

‘Quite, thank you,’ she says crisply, then he watches as she turns to look at him, and says, ‘Mike? Are you going to join us?’

He catches Katy’s hastily suppressed laughter at his father’s dumbfounded expression. Christ, she's a marvel, he thinks, and grins at her. 

‘I think she believes she’s better than us,’ his father whispers loudly to Pat. ‘Best case scenario, she's a bit uptight, I guess. Frigid, maybe. But she's got Mikey whipped.’

He knows what he’s doing--trying to get a rise out of her, of them. He used to do this with his mother. Pat stiffens, Katy opens her mouth, and he clenches his fists, glancing at Lizzie, who has tensed.

‘Thank you so much for dinner, Katy, Pat,’ Lizzie says after a few long moments, rising to her feet with a brittle smile pasted on her face. ‘It was delicious. I hope we can have you both over for dinner soon.’

‘That would be great, Liz,’ Katy says, standing to embrace her. Lizzie then goes over to Pat, embraces him, and turns to him. He’s already grabbed their coats, and kisses Katy goodbye quickly, then waves to Pat.

‘I’ll head out too,’ Dermot says, and Lizzie stiffens as she shrugs into her coat.

‘How about dessert, Dad?’ Katy asks, and he all but pushes Lizzie to the door, his father’s protests ringing loudly in the background.

He doesn’t breathe, and neither does she, until they get out of the building and a block away.

‘“Complicated” really doesn’t even begin to describe your relationship, does it?’ she asks softly. He stops walking and she does too, and he pulls her into his arms, burying his face in her hair.

‘Christ, Lizzie, I’m sorry,’ he tells her. ‘I’m so sorry.’

He can feel her shrug. ‘It would have happened sooner or later,’ she says, her words muffled against his coat. ‘It’s fine, Mike. I’m sorry, too. I tried--’

He tilts her head up so that he can look into her eyes. ‘He’s always been like this,’ he tells her softly. ‘Flirting with anyone Pete and I brought home, trying to prove he still had it even when he was married to the harpy that was my mother. And you didn’t buy into his crap. You weren’t charmed by him, so he had to come up with a reason for it, even though it wasn’t the right one.’

She smiles weakly at him. ‘So you don’t think I’m… uptight?’

He laughs. ‘Are you kidding?’

She joins in after a moment and he bends to kiss her, wanting only to be back home with her as she begins to respond to him. It’s snowing, still, and when he pulls back and looks at her he thinks she’s never been more beautiful. She smiles at him, and then she looks away and moves to the curb, sticking out her hand to hail the cab that appears like magic.


	10. Chapter 10

She’s more than a little drunk and she’s so glad they found a cab, especially as she peers out the window and sees the snow falling thickly in the light of the streetlamps. She’s cuddled close to Mike, his arms around her as she leans into him. He kisses her hair.

She feels… she doesn’t know how she feels, actually. Mortified. Angry. Worried that Mike believes his father. Not just… not just the “frigid” thing, but that his father said that she had Mike wrapped around her little finger… she doesn’t believe that’s the case. If anything, it’s the other way around. She wants to have a relationship with Mike where they are partners, not where one person has all the power… 

But she’s also worried about the frigid thing. She knows that she’s more cerebral than physical, even though being with him has finally allowed her to stop overthinking and overanalyzing everything, especially when they make love. But… he has so much experience, he’s been with so many women. How does she measure up?

She knows that he loves her. She knows that. But… what if she bores him? What if he gets tired of her because she’s not exciting enough for him, or because sometimes she just can’t get out of her head, or because--

The cab pulls up outside her building and she rummages in her purse for cash for the cabbie. Mike rests his hand on hers and gets out his own wallet. She opens the door of the cab and steps out, wobbling for an instant before Mike joins her, his hand clasping her elbow warmly. She feels cold, all of the sudden, standing here in the snowstorm, and she needs his warmth, she needs his love, she needs him. He guides her into her apartment building and they greet the doorman on duty before heading to the elevator. They don’t speak, and when they get to her floor he finds his keys in his pocket and unlocks the door.

‘Want to get ready for bed?’ Mike suggests. She nods and they shed their coats and shoes and he goes to get them water and she heads down the hall to the bedroom.

She’s exhausted and drunk and she wants to go to bed, but she wants to make sure he doesn’t think of her that way. But she’s just so tired… 

She uses the bathroom, brushing her teeth and her hair. She yawns widely, then undresses, tossing her clothes into the hamper and the bag for dry cleaning before walking back into the bedroom.

Mike is there, already in bed, and her heart flips over as she hears his gentle breathing, sees his face in repose. She gets out a nightgown from her dresser drawer and steps into a new pair of underwear before climbing into bed next to him. Although he’s asleep, he turns over in bed and moves closer to her instinctively. She closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep.

 

‘Lizzie,’ she hears him say.

She opens her eyes and feels a pounding headache begin. His face swims in front of her eyes and she groans, then closes her eyes again. God, she’s so hungover.

‘I’ve got some aspirin and my miracle cure for you,’ he says, and she opens her eyes again. She feels so nauseous and it takes all her strength to push herself up and accept the aspirin and the drink. She takes the pills and then drinks the egg cream as quickly as she can without getting a brain freeze, then hands the glass back to Mike and slides down in bed again, closing her eyes.

She feels him stroke her back. ‘Do you need anything?’ he asks softly.

‘Just you. Can you hold me, please?’ she tells him before she can think, the words just spilling out. He doesn’t say anything and she opens her eyes to look at him.

He’s looking down at her with an expression of such love and astonishment she smiles despite the pounding in her head.

He clears his throat. ‘Yeah,’ he says, and smiles at her, a handsome, happy smile. He climbs back into bed next to her, pulling her close to him, her back resting against his chest, his chin on her shoulder. He hugs her tight and turns his head to whisper in her ear, ‘You’re the light of my life, you know.’

She rests her hands on his and squeezes them tight. ‘I love you.’

He runs a hand over her stomach, caressing her. ‘I never thought it would be like this.’

‘Me neither,’ she admits softly, sleepily, feeling warm and loved despite the atrocious hangover and her doubts last night.

He sounds oddly tentative when he asks, ‘It wasn’t like this with the Duke?’

‘No,’ she says, remembering how it was with Lucas, how she felt. And she’d loved him, she thought she’d love him forever, but with Mike… ‘I loved him,’ she begins slowly, and his arms tighten around her. ‘And I thought I was in love with him, but--oh, Mike, I’m so in love with you. I look at you and feel dizzy with it.’

‘Oh, Lizzie,’ he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice. ‘God, how did I get so lucky?’

‘I’m the lucky one,’ she tells him, and yawns.

‘You sleepy?’ he asks. She nods. ‘Okay, honey, why don’t you go back to sleep, and when you get up we’ll have breakfast. All right?’

‘I love you,’ she says again, and closes her eyes.

 

When she wakes up it’s early afternoon and the pounding in her head as dissipated, thank God. The bed is empty and she pushes herself up and out, heading to the bathroom to shower first. She emerges feeling refreshed and hungry and goes into the kitchen.

He’s at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the paper, and he looks up and smiles at her. ‘Feeling better?’

‘Much,’ she says, smiling at him. ‘Hungry, too.’

‘Why don’t we go to the diner?’ he suggests, folding the paper. She sees that he’s circled something and she steps closer to look at it. It’s movie times for a film, The Last of the Mohicans.

‘Do you want to see that?’ she asks, tapping her finger on the page.

‘Yeah, thought it might be nice if we went,’ he says, shrugging.

‘Sure,’ she agrees, though she’s not really interested in war films. They’ve done a lot of the things she wants to do; they should do something for him. ‘Why don’t we go after lunch? Where’s it playing?’

‘It’s at the Beekman Theater and the Orpheum. Which one do you want to do?’

‘Have you been to the Beekman?’ she asks, and he shakes his head. ‘Let’s go, then, it’s really nice. It even has a bar.’

He smiles. ‘Sounds good. There’s a showing at 2:30, sound good?’

She nods and says, ‘I’m just going to shower quickly and then we can go, all right?’

‘Sure, babe,’ he says, and grabs her hand to pull her down for a kiss.

She smiles at him when they break apart. ‘I’ll be right back.’

 

When they reach the diner, she eats ravenously, her appetite returning as the headache recedes. He keeps up a running monologue throughout lunch, talking about the book he’s reading, a biography of Teddy Roosevelt; the upcoming basketball game in the league he’s just joined at the 92nd Street Y, the movie. She listens to him, interested in what he has to say, and asks questions when she has them. As he talks, she feels a deep, profound sense of relief. They have things to say to each other. Their relationship isn’t just about sex, as incredible as the sex is. She feels herself blush as the memory of yesterday morning and she drops her head to hide her flushed face. Mike breaks off mid-sentence.

‘You okay?’ he asks, and she nods, keeping her gaze fixed on her now-empty plate.

He presses his knee against hers and at the slight pressure warmth starts to spread low in her stomach. _Our relationship might not only be about sex, but sex is certainly a big part of it_ , she thinks, shifting in her seat, resisting the urge to bury her head in her hands. God, she thinks, as he increases the pressure in an attempt to get her to look up. When he eases his knee forward, encouraging her to part her legs, she moves away from him and looks up. He laughs out loud and she smiles, embarrassed and aroused, and sets down her fork with more force than necessary.

‘I’ll pay the check,’ she says hurriedly, rummaging in her purse for her wallet. She grabs the bill off the table and takes it up to the cashier, desperately trying to will down the color in her cheeks.

He comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist as she accepts her change from the cashier. At his touch, she jumps slightly and he laughs.

‘Ready to go?’ he asks, and she nods, turning in his embrace. He drops his arms and takes her hand and they walk out of the diner.

‘So d’you still want to go to the movie?’ he asks as they pause outside of the diner.

 _No!_ she wants to exclaim, _of course not, I want you, I need you…_ She forces herself to say, ‘Of course. Let’s walk.’ _Maybe the cold air will help_ , she thinks.

He nods and squeezes her hand and they begin to walk down to the theater.

 

When they arrive, he stands in line to buy the tickets and she goes to buy snacks--popcorn with extra salt and butter, a beer for Mike and chardonnay for her, and then nonpareils. Thankfully the beer and wine are in bottles and she’s given cups and a tray to carry everything. She meets him outside the theater.

‘Thanks, babe,’ he says, handing their tickets to the ticket collector. He takes the tray from her hands as they make their way into the theater, choosing seats in the back. When they are settled, she collects their coats and drapes them on the seat next to hers and he pours her a glass of wine and opens his beer, taking a sip. They still have fifteen minutes before the movie starts.

‘What interests you about history?’ she asks.

He thinks for a moment. ‘I like learning things--not just things, but things about people. That’s why I like biographies. You figure out what makes people tick, you can figure out why people do things, and some things never change.’

She nods. ‘That makes sense.’

He grins at her. ‘What do you like to read?’

‘Novels, mostly,’ she says. ‘Poetry, sometimes. I prefer reading women authors as a rule. I think that’s important. I suppose the books I like best are psychologically interesting too,’ she realizes, and he smiles at her.

‘What’s your favorite book?’

It’s her turn to think. ‘Honestly, I have so many. One of my favorites is _The Transit of Venus_ , by Shirley Hazzard.’

‘What’s it about?’

‘Mm, it’s hard to explain. It’s about two sisters who come from Australia to England and the family they get entangled with, and the men they love and the lives they live… it’s incredible. It’s like a puzzle, almost, the way the book falls together, how the pieces you think don’t mean anything turn out to hold the key to the entire picture.’ She stops and looks at him, curious to hear his thoughts.

‘That sounds interesting,’ he says. ‘Can I borrow it?’

‘Yes, if you want to,’ she says slowly. ‘But don't feel obligated to--’

‘I don't,’ he says, interrupting her. ‘But I want to share things with you, Lizzie. Sharin’ books we like… maybe you can read one of my favorites.’

She smiles at him, taking his hand. ‘I'd like that.’

The lights dim and she releases his hand to settle back in her seat. She turns to look at him; his gaze is fixed on the screen and she smiles before helping herself to a handful of popcorn.

‘Here we go,’ he says quietly as the movie starts.

Despite her disinterest in the film, she’s immediately captivated. It’s a beautiful film, with a soundtrack that seems to be part of it, as opposed to distracting noise. And the story… she’s entranced. It’s incredible.

From time to time, she glances over at Mike, who is equally entranced. As the movie goes on, he wraps his arm around her, and when Hawkeye and Cora kiss for the first time his arm tightens around her.

She weeps when Uncas dies, then Alice, and she can barely see the end of the movie for her tears. The lights come up and she’s still crying.

‘So, you liked it?’ he asks her, and she chuckles, wiping away tears.

‘It was incredible.’

‘I agree,’ he says, standing up and stretching. ‘So, what d’you want to do for the rest of the afternoon?’

She grins at him. ‘I have a couple ideas.’


End file.
